


Friction

by Vivian



Series: A Vision [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: Action, Bottom Kylo Ren, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Gore, M/M, Mass Murder, Politics, Propaganda speeches, Rimming, Unhealthy Relationships, Vader Survives AU, please take this seriously, references to Nazi practices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian/pseuds/Vivian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <i>The last Jedi is dead. It is the the dawning of a new age. Kylo Ren stands before them, blood spattered and triumphant.</i><br/><i>From those who had awaited his return, Hux comes forth.</i><br/><i>“Welcome back, Lord Ren,” he says.</i></p><p> <br/><b>( read part 1 <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6140911/chapters/14070979">here</a>)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nitrogen Narcosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to my [love](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who betas this, whose continuous love and support means everything to me.
> 
> To all who have not read pt one: I'd recommend reading it first, but if you want to jump right in, there are some plot points necessary to understand this story in the notes at the end of the chapter.

**PART TWO: FRICTION**

 

**i.**

 

“I killed Luke Skywalker. The last Jedi is dead.”

It is the the dawning of a new age. Kylo Ren stands before them, blood spattered and triumphant.

He steps forward and into the light. The vision inside him shivers. The sway of his calling. Of destiny.

Blood pounding in his ears. Silence. Chaos. Order. _Awe_.

From those who had awaited his return, Hux comes forth.

“Welcome back, Lord Ren,” he says.

They look at each other. Kylo exhales a harsh breath, Hux’s cold, appraising gaze upon him.

Then his two knights move to Kylo’s sides, flanking him. Kylo tilts his head. Behind him, Vader stands still as a tower. No other knows what Kylo knows. What Kylo _hears_ , trembling along the Force. Vader’s deafening agony. It is a beauteous sound.

He turns back to Hux.

“General,” he says, “I leave this to you.”

The corners of Hux’s mouth curve upward by a fraction. Hux looks clean-cut, radiant and in the black orbs of his irises, Kylo glimpses a reflection of himself. In Hux’s mind there is no fear. There is wonder. And there is hunger. Kylo breathes in, nostrils flaring. Something nameless passes between them. Some thing of _power_. Then Kylo moves, and in passing, brushes against Hux’s shoulder.

The small delegation parts for him, officers stepping aside hurriedly, as Kylo marches towards the exit of the landing bay. His knights follow in his stride.

“Master,” Issar says when they are out of earshot, “there are matters we must discuss.”

“Yes,” Kylo says.

Their steps reverberate as one through the hallways, movements aligned. None dare stand in their way. And as they walk, the thoughts of others quiver along the Force. They are stunned and they are terrified. They look at Kylo and many for the first time see his face. It does not trouble him now. Luke’s blood dries on his skin and mars the black of his robes. Kylo’s breath trembles, reverent. Before his eyes, he sees it again. The old man when Kylo had pushed him towards the chasm, towards death, and then had _taken_ his destiny. Vader’s roar in his ears. Luke falling to the ground. And the world had been changed.

 

They arrive at Kylo’s quarters ten minutes after. Kylo bids Issar and Rho inside.

“Are you hurt?” Issar asks.

Kylo looks at her. She stands still and strong, but worry is etched into the furrowed line of her brows.

“No,” he says.

Issar relaxes. Rho takes a step closer.

“We’ve had more intel, master. The whispers against Snoke have been spreading quickly. But these people are soldiers. It takes more for the whispers to turn into screams.”

“Rho is right,” Issar avers, “we must give them a reason to rebel.”

“I will discuss it with Lord Vader and General Hux,” Kylo says.

“There is more,” Rho says, their voice wavering slightly. Kylo’s eyes narrow.

“What is it?”

“There have been rumours. That Snoke has another apprentice. Someone strong in the Force.”

For a heartbeat, Kylo is dumbstruck. Something ugly twists in his gut. Nearly three decades he has heard Snoke’s voice in his head. All his life. Not once he thought there might be another next to him. Gall rises in his throat. He cannot think. He clenches his fists.

“Impossible,” he snarls.

“Master—”

“No,” he says, turning abruptly, “It is a _lie_.”

Rho makes to speak once more, but Kylo cuts them off with a swipe of his hand. Issar and Rho exchange a quick look.

“Enough,” Kylo grits out.

Rho takes a step back, bowing their head.

“We have a war to wage,” Kylo says, aggressive. “We’ll soon face Snoke _himself_.”

“Yes, master,” they both say in unison.

Kylo breathes in deeply. He sweeps a strand of hair from his forehead, calms his raging pulse.

“What of the new recruit?” He asks then.

“Requires training,” Issar says. “But capable enough.”

“Good. For now, this is your task.” He nods at Issar.

“Yes, master.”

“Rho, stir and spread the whispers.”

“Yes, master.”

“Leave me.”

They bow to him and then retreat.

When they are gone, Kylo braces himself against the desk, palms flat against its surface. In the quiet, his breath echoes, strepitous.

His comm vibrates. It’s a message from Hux over the secure line.

_Are you available?_

Kylo’s heartbeat picks up.

 _Yes_ , he answers.

_Good. I shall be at your quarters in five minutes._

 

Hux requests entry. Kylo opens the door. He steps back and Hux strides inside. With a quiet whir the door slides shut.

“Lord Vader will be joining us in a moment,” Hux says, turning to face Kylo.

Kylo’s eyes narrow to Hux’s mouth, then to his pale eyes. Kylo swallows. Hands clasped behind his back, Hux advances. But not far. Not _enough_. An arm’s length between them. Kylo wants to close the distance. Yet, Hux’s gaze is command enough for him not to move. It lies upon him heavily, grazing over the blood splatter on his robes. It feels like being devoured. Gnawed open and gorged. Kylo’s breath quickens. Without thought, he ingresses into Hux’s mind: A swath of blinding white, bleeding into hues of pulsing red, of skies riven by light. The same as when they fired the weapon on Starkiller Base.

“Hux,” Kylo says and takes a step forward. Hux’s lips part, he inhales harshly.

Suddenly, Kylo’s attention veers towards Vader approaching. The door control panel whirrs as Vader requests entry. Excitement rushes through Kylo. He opens the door. Vader enters, his frame broad and his step, mountainous. He is still the most of what Kylo knows of might. The gravity of his presence exceeds all else. He of whose blood Kylo is. He whom Kylo has surpassed.

“Grandfather,” Kylo says, and Vader freezes. Such hatred bleeds from him. Such _torment_. Kylo drinks it in. Thrill tingles in the tips of his fingers. In the Force, Kylo brushes against Vader’s mind, and in it, the image of Luke’s carcass hitting the ground. Kylo moves closer to Vader, splays his fingers against the bulk of Vader’s back then slides them to his arm. The touch singes them both. Vader jerks around. The onset of violence scrapes along the Force and adrenaline spikes in Kylo’s veins. Vader halts. Kylo stares at him, eyes wide, heart racing.

Luke’s blood is but a smudge of dirty brown in the reflection of Vader’s mask.

Vader aches to hurt him. To crush him. And for a moment, Kylo _wants_ him to. But Vader can’t. The thought is as exhilarating as it is sickening. Kylo’s lips part, tongue moving over them.

“I’m so glad you are here,” Kylo says.

Stillness. Vader looks upon him. Then Vader steps back, tearing from the grasp of Kylo’s blood-smeared fingers. Breath uneven, a visible shiver runs through Vader. Kylo _feels_ it.

Vader turns towards Hux.

“General,” he says, voice strained, “you said you harbored news?”

“Indeed,” Hux says, bare of emotion. “I had an audience with Supreme Leader Snoke while you were gone. He ordered me to return to him immediately.”

“It cannot be done,” Vader says.

“Of course not,” Hux agrees. “We lack provisions and weaponry. Too many of our resources were destroyed when the Resistance attacked Starkiller Base.” Hux’s eyes and voice betray nothing of his knowledge of Vader’s and Kylo’s involvement in the attack.

“I have set the _Finalizer’s_ course to Fresia,” Hux continues, “We can stock up our supplies there.”

“Very well,” Vader says.

“However, before we embark on the planet, we must cleanse this ship of those who would still bow to Snoke.”

“How?” Kylo asks.

Hux looks at him. “I conducted inquires the moment I agreed to join you. I have a list of names.”

“So we kill them all,” Vader says.

“Yes. I have already mentioned problems with communication to Leader Snoke. It might give us time to delay Leader Snoke finding out about his officer’s deaths.”

Kylo snorts quietly. Hux’s attention shifts towards him, gaze sharp.

“Do you have a better idea, Lord Ren?”

“I do. We let some of the traitors escape.”

“And that would help us how, exactly?”

“I can plant false memories into their brains. We can feed Snoke false information.”

Hux regards him carefully. “Such as?”

“Lord Vader and I make the traitors believe that instead of going directly for Snoke, we take the hyperlane from Fresia to Metellos for kyber crystals. To fuel our weapons.”

“When in truth we are already on our way to Leader Snoke,” Hux concludes.

“Exactly.”

“Very well,” Hux says. His gaze lingers on Kylo for a moment.

“What of the Resistance, general?” Vader asks.

Hux turns to him.

“They have scattered. Our scanners tracked them to different planets until they went off radar. I have my best teams on it.” Hux’s mouth curves slightly downward, discontent knitting his brows.

“We must destroy them if we are to bring order to the galaxy,” Vader says, trenchant.

“We will,” Hux grits out. “Leader Snoke said our sponsors have already reached out to those who remain to look favourably upon the Resistance. Soon they will be on our side. Or wiped out. The Resistance will have no allies left.”

“Are you certain Snoke is telling you the truth?” Vader asks.

“No. But I see no reason for him to lie in this regard.”

“Does he question your loyalty?” Vader takes a step closer to Hux, towering.

“He would be ill advised if he didn’t.” Hux juts his chin forward.

“From now on: Cease all communication with Snoke,” Vader demands.

Hux’s lips twitch. But he nods once, and sharply.

“Is that all?” Vader asks.

“Yes. I will supply you with the list of names and profiles. We will embark on Fresia in two days. I will schedule the cleansing for tomorrow, during delta shift. Let me know whom to spare for the memory-planting by then.”

“Very well,” Vader says.

“I shall leave you to it,” Hux says, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lord Vader. Lord Ren.”

For a heartbeat Hux’s gaze meets Kylo’s. Then Hux turns on his heels.

The door slides shut.

They are alone.

“Grandfather,” Kylo says into the silence.

Vader does not turn to look at him.

“Never refer to me in that manner again,” Vader says.

He leaves without another word. Kylo stares after him, heart beating fast.

A moment later, as he is undressing, his comm vibrates with a message from Hux. It’s the profiles. Kylo throws on some loose trousers and sorts through the list. It has two hundred names on it. A small number, considering the size of the _Finalizer’s_ crew. It speaks of both Hux’s skill and popularity. Kylo narrows it down to twenty possible candidates, then ten and finally picks out two stormtroopers and a lieutenant with mediocre records. Clay soldiers. Made to be used and tossed to the front lines. Those who will think about little more than their own survival, and delivering the message. He sends the names to Hux and Vader. Hux replies with an affirmative. Vader answers nothing. Afterwards, Kylo has some food delivered to his room. Regulation couscous with a paste that must once have been vegetables, induced with additional vitamins and albumen. It’s barely seasoned, barely tastes of anything, but Kylo tears into it. When he is finished, fork clattering on the plate, exhaustion strikes him down. Blood still clots his hair, but he does not have the strength to get up. Sleep takes him, and quickly.

 

Kylo wakes, sheets sweaty, a chill on his skin. The cool blue light of his clock illuminates the dark. A quick glance tells him he has slept three hours. He gets up, takes a shower. Blood and dirt swirl into the drain. Afterwards, he slips into fresh robes. The blood-spattered ones he folds, and places where once Vader’s mask had lain. He looks at them and traces a blood-stain with his index and middle finger, the rough fabric crusted with dark brown. Kylo bends down, inhales deeply. The scent is faint, but it is there. Within it, the Force furls and unfurls. Particles of the past. The phantom of Luke’s face before he fell. In that last moment, Luke had not fought back.

Kylo exhales harshly, nostrils flaring. Ire needles in his chest, cords up his ribcage. _He is dead now_ , Kylo reminds himself, _he is gone._ Kylo lies back down, sets an alarm for two hours. In the darkness, his eyes are wide open. A shiver goes through his body. He bites his lips and sinks into the memory of killing Luke and all its awe-filled terror. The pains of being born. Of becoming. Kylo writhes on the bed, then stills, breath caught in his lungs, and bliss and ache alike quiver through him. He has felt himself grow stronger in the Force, felt it like a second heartbeat along his veins, pulsing, dark, _puissant_. He remembers Vader’s roar when he had sliced Luke’s head from its shoulders, the impotent rage, and how he had stilled. Not a day has passed since then, yet, it feels like an age has come and gone. And it _has_. It is a new world now.

 

The next time Kylo wakes it is the 2400 hour and a message from Vader waits on his comm. Two names from the list and _Attended._ Kylo gets up, dresses and opens the secure line to Hux. Hux picks up on the fifth ring.

“Ren.” Hux’s voice sounds flat over the comm line, but awake.

“I need you to order the three I chose to 2.04.194.”

The soft sound of fingers tapping on a screen.

“Yes. They should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Good,” Kylo says and hangs up.

He puts on his mask and heads out. The way to Sector 2 is quick and not too far from the S-F barracks in which Kylo and his knights are situated along with the First Order’s Special Forces. For most parts, troopers and lower officers use sector 2 for gatherings, flight and fight simulations and general practises. Kylo’s steps echo along the hallways. The patrolling stormtroopers get out of his way as they hear him approaching. Fear tints the air with its stench. Under the mask, Kylo bares his teeth.

As he arrives at the appointed room, Lieutenant Ondar, FR-1334 and FZ-6790 await him. They straighten up immediately.

“Take off your masks,” Kylo demands. “Sit.” He gestures to the chairs stacked on the left wall of the room.

“Yes, sir,” the troopers say at once. Lieutenant Ondar chirps in, a second later. They take the chairs and sit. Kylo circles them with heavy steps. He can feel their heartbeats quickening. With a spike of the Force, Kylo extinguishes their consciousnesses. They go slack. FZ-6790 is about to drop to the floor, but Kylo steadies him with a flick of his hand. Kylo takes a deep breath and concentrates. Their minds are hazy. Blurred images flit through them. For a moment, Kylo thinks of Poe Dameron. Where in his mind he had seen the woodlands of D’Qar and Ileenium blazing on the horizon, there is only durasteel and grey in the troopers minds. No memory of home. Only barracks and ships and a military academy on a grim Outer Rim planet. Passing acquaintances. Then, enlisting on the _Finalizer_. Companionship. Purpose. And Snoke. His ashen voice sooting their minds. Promising, always promising. A well of hatred spreads through Kylo. Snoke on his throne, Snoke with his spindly fingers. Snoke whom Kylo had trusted, and for the longest time. Who had spread the world in front of him like unrolling an old map, each thing with its name, and all Kylo had to do was read. Discover. _Take._ Still, Snoke’s voice threads through Kylo’s thoughts, nebulous and twining, luring with half-truths and lies. Kylo knows that now. He has not been Snoke’s only scholar. Another apprentice. And for how long? Kylo grits his teeth.

In the Force, Kylo reaches for those whose minds Vader has already corrupted. Vague figments, light fracturing shadows. He takes those and he takes from himself, and he shapes them into a new illusion: An officer the troopers overhear. Kylo gives him the eyes of Poe Dameron and the shape of Daion. He crafts his voice from fibrils of sound, Hux and Issar. The Officer comes to life. _The Officer speaks, and they hear him talk over his comm. The Officer says: ‘First to Metellos. For kyber crystals.’_ Kylo does the same to the lieutenant, alters the illusion just enough to be realistic.

Then he wakes all three.

“You will forget what happened. You will go to your rooms. Once we embark on Fresia, you will flee to Supreme Leader Snoke.”

They mutter an affirmative and leave, eyes glazed. Kylo leans against the wall. Once more, it feels as if he had opened his veins. Vader’s words resonate in Kylo’s head: _No new thing can be made of the void_.

 

Kylo wakes from the whirr of someone demanding entrance. The sound drones into his thoughts, then he wakes. He gets out of bed. He’s slept in his robes, too exhausted to have taken them off. He snatches his mask from the nightstand, puts it on and leaves the bedroom. With a swipe of his hand he opens the door. An officer stands there, now taking a single step into his quarters.

“Lord Ren,” he stutters.

“What is it,” Kylo rasps, voice sharpened by the mask’s modulator.

“General Hux requests your presence,” the officer straightens his posture, “he...he instructed to ask you to look at your comm, sir.”

Under the mask, Kylo raises his eyebrows. His comm is still on the floor next to his bed.

“Is that all?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

The officer salutes and leaves hastily.

Kylo turns back to his bedroom, picks up the comm. Several messages wait for him, from both Hux’s secretary and Hux himself. Kylo opens only the latest. It reads: _My office. I expect you at 1530._

In half an hour. Kylo uses the spare time to shower and dress. He eats a protein bar before he heads out. The weight of exhaustion linger. He does not care for it. His heart beats quicker and harder the closer he comes to meeting with Hux. In his office. Official business, then. It strikes Kylo how long he has not been in there. He thinks instead of Hux’s quarters, of glass shards on the floor. A shiver runs down his back.

In front of Hux’s door stand two of his protection squadron, monoliths of black with their heavy coats and boots. They are among the few who show no fear to Kylo. Where the stormtroopers dare not to meet his gaze, Hux’s men glare at him with a gaze nearly as steely as Hux’s. Expertly trained. Lethal. But not for Kylo. When he steps towards Hux’s office door, he ripples the Force. A screeching tears against the walls that is more felt than heard. The men tense minutely. Kylo wants to crush them. And for one bright moment, he knows he could and no-one would be able to reprimand him. The door slides open. He crosses the antechamber, spares no glance for Hux’s secretary, and enters Hux’s office.

Hux looks up from his datapad. He’s sitting behind his desk, back straight. His lips twitch at the sight of Kylo.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Hux says tartly.

“What do you want,” Kylo says, voice harsh.

“Come here. Sit.”

For a moment Kylo considers to stay where he is, then he obeys. His fingers curl over the armrest of the chair. He wants to take his mask off. He wants to touch Hux. But they are not in Hux’s room.

“I want you to make a public appearance,” Hux says and folds his hands. “You will inform the public of Skywalker’s death.”

“Is that not something _you_ would enjoy?” Kylo asks. He leans forward, looming.

“Ren, I don’t have time for this. We have not been able to locate the Resistance fighters, we _have_ to show our troops progress. And…” He trails off for a moment. Kylo unfastens his mask, places it upon the table. Hux’s gaze follows his motions, then he looks up. Their eyes meet.

“They have to see you. They have to know you, and they have to know it was _you_ who freed the galaxy from the last Jedi.”

Kylo stands. Before he can think better, he has rounded the desk and sinks onto his knees before Hux. Hux’s eyes widen, his lips soft and loose. Under his shirt collar, Kylo can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and turns towards him. Kylo’s heartbeat quickens. He parts Hux’s knees so he can settle between them, fingers roaming upward, hooking over Hux’s belt.

“I want to,” Kylo whispers.

Hux breathes in through gritted teeth,peering down at him. Then he fists a hand into Kylo’s hair, and pulls back sharply. A mewl slips from Kylo’s lips. He bites them quickly. Shame and heat rise inside him.

“Stand,” Hux says.

Kylo raises his gaze.

“I said, _stand_.” Hux tugs at his hair. A spike of arousal shoots through Kylo. He obeys, waits for Hux to move, but Hux doesn’t.

“Sit back down, I need to brief you on this, Ren,” Hux says, tone clipped. He doesn’t look at Kylo.

For a heartbeat Kylo’s mind is blank, then something ugly twists in his gut. It thieves him of air, he clenches his fists. Mechanically, he sits down.

“I’ll schedule your appearance for the evening we arrive at Fresia,” Hux says. “It will be a mandatory event, but not long. We need you on stage. Make sure to let them know it was you, and you _alone_ who killed Skywalker. We must make clear, Snoke was not in any way involved. Afterwards, I will address the cleansing.”

Kylo barely listens. Even through the gloves his fingernails jag into his palms. He cannot stand to look at Hux. He cannot stand to listen to him. Before he knows it, Kylo stands.

“ _Ren_ ,” Hux snaps. Kylo winces. He wants to rend into Hux’s mind, wants to tear open his thoughts, and yet, what will he _find_ —

“Enough of this nonsense. Pull yourself together,” Hux says. Then he gets up, too, clasps his hands behind his back and straightens his posture. “Gamma shift is almost over.”

Kylo reaches for his mask, but Hux seizes his wrist. His touch sears through Kylo, runs electric up his spine. It lasts only for a heartbeat. Hux’s hand falls away.

“Follow me,” Hux says.

And Kylo does. He puts on his mask. They exit Hux’s office. The two guards follow them without command, the echo of their heavy steps reverberating along the hallways. They arrive at a control room in sector 6  five minutes later. The whole sector only occupies a small range of offices directly underneath the command bridge, all classified. Officers working here are bound to professional discretion. No-one else is to enter without explicit request.

Hux walks over to one officer who’s looking at a monitor. Hux’s stance is tense. Strung along the Force, Kylo can feel Hux’s hatred, acuminated and _precise_ , aimed at those whom he now observes on the monitor. The traitors have all been brought in under the pretense of a random medical examination.

They gather in the showers.

“Are the rooms heated?” Hux asks, voice acrid.

“Yes, sir.”

“Open the vents.”

“Yes sir.”

Kylo moves behind Hux, glancing at the monitor. Pellets of the compound rain into the chamber. A moment of cessation. Then the traitors panic. There is no audio feed. Their screams are muted. The traitors scramble towards the doors, bang and throw themselves against them, naked, trampling each other in an attempt to escape. They bloody themselves. The doors remain shut. Then the first sink to the floor, crouching over.

It takes them twenty minutes to die.

Hux’s gaze never leaves the monitor.

Afterwards, a special work crew with gas masks drag the bodies out to transport them to the nearby incinerator. The corpses lie cowered, huddled together, naked skin discoloured. Lathery mouths, blood trickling from their ears.

Kylo stands motionless, fists clenched at his sides.

He thinks of the Jedi temple and slaughtering the younglings. He remembers how their blood had slicked his hands, how for the first time he had felt true power, how he had been torn by regret and wrath and how fast his heart had beaten. He finds no such thing in Hux.

In the Force, Hux’s heartbeat is calm. There is neither ire nor remorse.

There is but cold, cuspate _efficiency_.

 

Kylo retires to his room. They have entered the Fre’ji system. One hour remains before they embark on Fresia. He stares out of the viewport. Seven pale moons circle Fresia that lies in shadow. They are approaching the darkened half of the planet.

 

**ii.**

 

For the landing, Kylo goes to the command bridge. Vader is there, too. All around, albeit in order, officers are swarming about, making last-minute preparations, delivering messages and executing orders. Contact has been made with the ground, but a storm is raging and the communication line is cut by interference. Their last stay on Fresia had been three months ago and they had not planned upon returning for another two, as far as Kylo is aware. Kylo watches the touchdown, as does Vader, while Hux is busy giving orders. Vader keeps his distance as if under duress, violence brimming around him in the Force. Kylo breathes in harshly, excitement tingling in his fingertips, and approaches Vader. Kylo does not speak, simply stands, and closely. Perhaps, if they were not on the command bridge, Vader would throw him against a wall, tighten the Force around Kylo’s neck as he had done before. But they are not alone, and there is nothing Vader can do. So they remain, side by side, until the _Finalizer_ is on the ground.

Vader sojourns on board while Kylo joins Hux and a delegation of officers, Captain Phasma, as well as five of Hux’s protection squadron. Two teams of troopers follow in separate shuttles, issuing forth towards the main hangar to meet their suppliers.

Behind the viewports of their shuttle lies darkness. All light is swallowed by the storm. Its raving howl rips the silence. The storm spits froth from the ocean against their shuttles. Thunder cracks along the skies, and for seconds illuminates the world, bathing it in blueish light.

Hux is wearing his greatcoat, his face is pale, the slant of his cheekbones pronounced, the corners of his mouth curved downward. Kylo sits diagonally across from him. And as if Hux had felt his stare, even through the mask, his gaze snaps up. Such pallid eyes. Something nameless rises inside Kylo and spreads through his veins. A breath catches in his throat. His fingers tremble. Hux does not look away. Kylo feels himself inching forward, barely perceptible, but Hux notices. Kylo knows it. Bolts of lightning tear open the sky, luminous in Hux’s eyes, sharpening his features.

When they arrive they are welcomed by two sturdy looking men, ushering them from the main hangar into a smaller hall. Kylo strides alongside Hux, flanked by the men of Hux’s protection squadron. Stormtroopers precede and follow behind them, blasters drawn and ready, lead by Captain Phasma.

Entering the hall, they are met by a small delegation. A woman comes towards them, clad in a thick coat, face wan, wrinkles cutting deep into her paper-thin skin.

“General,” she says in lieu of greeting. Her voice is gruff, but authoritative. “If you please follow me.”

They walk in silence. She leads them to another shuttle. Within five minutes they arrive at another building. Rain whips against the windows of the shuttle. They get out, and enter the building, flanked by guards in uniform similar to that of their troopers. Even inside the building, the rumble and growl of thunder is audible. Finally, they reach an office, the woman lets them in, but stays outside. Four stormtroopers take their position at the doors, the rest follow inside. The troopers and Captain Phasma remain in the antechamber they now cross. Only the protection squadron remains. Hux clasps his hands behind his back, the coat lends weight to his appearance. His gaze is sharp, and his voice clear and crisp when he speaks.

“Colonel Matae,” Hux says and forth strides a woman, hair greying at her temples, but with a youthful face. Her brows are drawn together. A strained pull lies around her thin-lipped mouth.

“General Hux,” Matae greets. She takes a deep breath. “There have been complications.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think!  
>   
>  **Plot points for those who have not read part one:**  
>  -Vader is alive and has been training Kylo  
> -Vader wanted Luke to turn to the dark side  
> -Vader and Kylo conspired against Hux, leading to the destruction of Star Killer Base  
> -Hux kills some of the Knights of Ren in retribution (Daion and Bysshe)  
> -KoR now consist of Rho (non binary, they/them pronouns) and Issar  
> -KoR are seeking new recruits  
> -later Vader, Kylo and Hux make a pact against Snoke  
> -Kylo and Hux are having a spiteful affair that has turned into something...other.  
> -instead of killing Han, Kylo killed Leia   
> -Kylo found Luke's island and challenged him, Luke gives Kylo the scar on his face  
> -Vader finds Luke and tried to turn him, they end up fighting  
> -Kylo joins them and finally kills Luke  
>   
> (& talk to me on [tumblr](http://kyluxxury.tu,blr.com))


	2. Anabasis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to my [love](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who is wise and thoughtful when beta-ing and also the sweetest.

 

With the resplendence of lightning on his skin, Hux looks hardly human. Yet, inside his mind, Hux strains for control.

“What sort of complications?” Hux asks.

Colonel Matae swallows harshly, and gestures toward the left where a table and chairs line the wall.

“We should sit,” she says, and turns to procure her data pad from her desk.

Kylo follows them as they sit down, but remains standing, towering behind Hux. For a split second Matae looks up at Kylo and fear fissures through her. She slides the data pad over to Hux. It’s a chart, an assessment of numbers. Of losses.

“What is this?” Hux asks, though he already _knows_.

“The provisions you ordered,” Matae elaborates, “we obtained them, but four fifths were destroyed in an attack two days ago.”

“By whom?” Hux asks and a barely perceptible quiver goes through his voice.

“The Resistance.”

Kylo hears Hux inhale sharply through his nose. In Hux’s mind, hatred unspools.

“We were certain to balance the losses in the remaining time until your next scheduled arrival, but—”

Hux cuts her off.

“How was I not informed of this?” He asks.

“We tried to contact you, sir, but the storm has been raging for a week now and cut all long distance communication.”

For a moment, Hux says nothing. Kylo is still grazing against Hux’s mind, in it resounds the strident scratch of his thoughts, calculations and solutions, and underneath it, the copper tang of trepidation, like blood in his mouth.

“How many additional provisions can you gather in two days time?” Hux asks.

Matae swallows. “Perhaps enough to last your crew for another three days.”

“And weaponry?”

“I would have to assess.”

“Do that, Colonel,” Hux says. He stands and gestures at Matae’s data pad. “Give me all of the information on the attack and meet me on the _Finalizer_ at hour 2400.”

“Yes, general.”

 

On the way back, Kylo strides beside Hux as Hux makes calls, giving clipped commands for tighter rationing, less use of energy by shutting down flight simulations and other more excessive daily training programmes, as well as instructing to find more information on the whereabouts of the Resistance fighters. Due to the classified content of his orders, the stormtroopers walk at a reasonable distance, while the protection squadron moves in closer.  

The storm thunders on. White-blue flashes of lightning rip away Fresia’s long night for heartbeats of radiance.

As they arrive at the _Finalizer,_ the necessary troops are already embarking. AAL shuttle after shuttle leaves the intestines of the _Finalizer._ The echo of hectic steps reverberates along the hallways, voices twine into the air, the machine-gun cadence of orders given.

Kylo thinks of Snoke. Of his leaden visions. It has been so long since he was in Snoke’s presence, has felt the true reach of his potency. Kylo knows he should be afraid. But here, in the turmoil of their ship, with Hux, pale and unrelenting, no fear tints his thoughts, and in the chaos, he feels calm.

Hux sends for Vader and fifteen minutes later, the three of them are alone in Hux’s office. Kylo has taken off his mask, Vader stands before the viewport, and Hux paces. Hux has his hands clasped at his back, a muscle twitching in jaw. His voice rings in the room.

“We have enough provisions to last us until we reach Supreme Leader Snoke’s abode, and three weeks more, but our stock of ammunition, kyber crystals and general weaponry is radically reduced since Starkiller Base.”

Vader breathes out audibly, sound distorted by his mask. “Is it sufficient enough for our attack?”

Hux stops in his tracks and turns on his heel sharply.

“No,” he snaps. “Not with what I know of Supreme Leader Snoke’s resources.”

“And we do not have time to stock up elsewhere,” Vader concludes.

“Precisely.”

Silence.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kylo says quietly.

Both Hux and Vader jerk their heads toward him.

“What do you _mean_?” Hux asks, voice cutting.

Kylo pushes himself from the wall.

“All we need is to _get_ there. Leave the rest to me,” Kylo says.

Hux’s lips twitch. His gaze is piercing, but Kylo withstands its sting. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Give Lord Vader and I enough time to reach Snoke, and we will deal with him,” Kylo says.

Hux glances at Vader, and back at him.

“You suggest I lay the fate of all of us into your hands,” Hux says. A shudder goes through Hux’s thoughts and Kylo snatches at it in the Force. He rips into it, but there is only white-hot emptiness, an absence of fear or trust. Hux stares at him, and Kylo stares back.

“Yes,” Kylo says.

And they know, it is the only way.

Vader steps closer. “Perhaps the loss of provisions could prove favourable.”

“How so?” Hux asks.

“Let the troops believe it was Snoke who cut us off and it will become the tinder on which he will burn. Feed their hatred. Then give them war, general.”

Hux contemplates it for a moment.

“It may also strengthen our deception,” Hux says slowly. “Supreme Leader Snoke would not expect us to attack him, knowing we lack firepower. To go to Metellos for kyber crystals would indeed be more reasonable.”

“And he would expect you to be reasonable, general,” Vader says, voice dark. “Instead we will be reckless. And victorious.”

Hux nods once, and sharply, and throws a quick glance at Kylo.

“I have scheduled a speech for 2200,” Hux says, “We shall address all of it.”

“Very well,” Vader says. “General.” Vader nods, and turns to leave.

The door slides shut behind him. They are alone.

Kylo is about to put on his mask, but tarries in his movement. He catches Hux’s eye.

“I expect you to be good,” Hux says plainly, “...when you are on stage.”

Kylo looks at him from beneath his lashes.

“I will be,” Kylo says.

Hux’s eyes narrow. He advances. Then he is close. Kylo’s breath catches in his lungs. Suddenly, Hux’s presence engulfs him, his scent, and there—his gloved fingers curling around Kylo’s throat. Kylo reaches out, lays his palm flat against Hux’s chest.

“Your heart beats fast,” Kylo whispers.

Hux’s pupils widen, devouring the pale green of his irises. Hux breathes out harshly through his nose. Then he steps back. His hand falls from Kylo’s throat.

“I will see you before the speech,” Hux says.

Kylo clutches his mask harder, fingertips digging into the durasteel.

He replies with nothing, and leaves.

 

Before his quarters, Issar awaits him. Kylo bids her inside.

Together, they order food, and when it arrives, eat quietly and hastily. Issar wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, letting fork and knife clatter to the plate. It has been long since they ate together. Her gaze is on him as he swallows the last mouthful of couscous. She averts her eyes.

“I miss him,” she says.

Kylo looks at her, and he needs not reach for the Force to know her pain, to know the image of Daion is burning behind her eyelids. He thinks of those first years, when it had been only the three of them. A lifetime ago.

“I want him and Bysshe avenged,” she says through gritted teeth. “I want Hux dead.”

“We need him,” Kylo interjects.

Her gaze snaps up to him. Hatred shines in her eyes, but she says no more of it.

“The recruit must be ready, by the time we arrive at Snoke’s abode,” Kylo says.

“Yes, master.”

“We must defeat him,” Kylo says.

“And we shall,” Issar promises, and stands.

They look at each other. Kylo nods. She leaves.

A moment later, his comm vibrates. It’s a message from Hux’s secretary. It is time. Kylo showers and afterwards puts on the blood-spattered robes. He does it quietly, reverently, and he remembers it. How he had cut Luke down. Something within Kylo trembles. A world bathed in red. The onset of dawn, and skies deluged vermillion. A baptism. A becoming.

He strides towards the hall, passing through hallways and corridors. His heart beats calm and hard, the echo of titans’ steps. He sees not and he hears not, though his eyes are wide underneath the mask. He _is_ , and it is a powerful thing. And all shall know it, too.

He arrives through a side entrance. Two officers usher him to a room next to the back of the stage. He dismisses them. They fall away behind him like marionettes cut from their strings. In the room, Hux paces along the viewport. Now, he stops, and turns to Kylo. His green eyes are incandescent, light caught on steel. He stands, his uniform sharp, obsidian-black. Hux’s lips part. Kylo exhales harshly, takes off his mask. Hux is on the verge of speaking, but Kylo is faster. He advances and crowds Hux against the viewport. A breath caught between them. Hux’s eyes are wide and his teeth grit, but his lips lie loose and soft. They kiss and it is torrid, mouths pressing and tongues sliding against each other wetly, hotly, and Hux’s teeth sinking into Kylo’s lower lip. Hux’s fingers in his hair, pulling roughly. Kylo shudders and moves against Hux. Hux’s free hand grabs Kylo’s hip, fingers jabbing into the slant of his bone. A sharp tug at Kylo’s hair, and finally Hux cants his hips forward. A low moan slips from Kylo’s lips. Suddenly, Hux pushes him away. He marches Kylo back until the back of his thighs bump against the edge of a table on which refreshments are placed. Hux looks at him, breathing hard, nostrils flaring. Kylo tears into Hux’s mind, and there is blazing white, burning and riving, the rivetting twines of hunger. And awe.

Hux takes a step back.

“We have to to go,” Hux says, voice quivering slightly. A shiver goes through Hux. Kylo can _feel_ it.

“Yes,” Kylo says and puts his mask back on.

 

They are using the hall adjoining sector 2. It is the biggest hall of the _Finalizer_. And it is filled to the brim. Still, Kylo holds no doubts that this audience is selected, too. High ranking officers in the front, along with parts of Special Forces and men of Hux’s protection squadron, those who are not on the ground. Behind them: row after row of lower ranking officers and the repeated silhouettes of stormtroopers in their white armour, separated into several battalions forming five brigades. Perhaps ten thousand bodies in total. It is only a tenth of the _Finalizer’s_ crew, and yet. These are Hux’s soldiers. Each one of them trained to serve and obey and _fight_. And fight they will.

On banners and along the walls the standards of the First Order are risen, sharp black on deep red. A rush of voices goes through the audience. The event is broadcasted live all over the ship. It is mandatory to watch. Neither Issar nor Rho are present, but Vader waits in the back, a shape of glinting darkness, with only a handful of officers around him. When Kylo had entered, Vader had turned his head and glanced at Kylo and his bloodied robes, just for a heartbeat. But it had been thrill enough, and Kylo fed of it. Underneath the mask, the corners of Kylo’s mouth had curved upward.

Now, the hall falls quiet.

Hux ascends the stage.

All eyes are on him. Along the Force, Hux’s heart beats calmly. Kylo slips back into Hux’s mind. This, Hux thinks, is exactly where he belongs. In front of the masses. _Commanding._

Hux addresses the audience. His amplified voice rings and is thrown back from the walls. He takes a step forward.

“It is a proud day that I can announce: the traitors who _betrayed_ _you_ and your fellow officers on Starkiller Base have been extracted. They have been dealt with accordingly to their atrocious crimes. This ship is _cleansed_ of those foul apostates who have _corrupted_ our ranks.”

A shout of grim joy goes through the rows.

“And yet we find ourselves in peril again,” Hux starts, letting his gaze wander over the rows. “A peril more dangerous than any we have faced before.” He lets his words sink in. A murmur rises, but Hux holds out his hand and silence falls once more.

“As many of you already know: a great part of our provisions have been destroyed.” Hux’s lips twitch and then curl back in hatred. Tension knits the air.

“By none other than Supreme Leader Snoke.”

Outrage takes the audience, shouts rise and clamour cracks along the walls. Hux lets them, watches and feeds their rage and disbelief by staying quiet. Suddenly, Hux raises his voice again.

“Will you, my fellow men, let that stand?”

The masses roar and scream. Hux drinks it all in. Kylo can feel Hux’s searing satisfaction.

“For too long we have followed an old man who hides like a coward behind his walls and sends his spies and assassins, communing with _phantoms_. Too long we have followed one who now willingly would destroy us though we have only served him faithfully—and for _what_? For fear that no longer he can control us. It has become clear that he is a man who does not care for a peaceful galaxy, only for _power_. While we fight and _die_ for a united galaxy. The time has come for us to rise, above the best and above ourselves for a greater good, for _order_ and for _peace_. We shall break the fetters of Snoke. We shall break his regime of sorcery. For we have lived through the ruin of the Empire and the rise of the New Republic, and the _suffering_ it brought. And we will _not relent_ until we have built a better world. We’ve done it today and we will do it tomorrow and _every day_ hence.”

Hux sucks in a harsh breath, and the audience roars their hail.

“We will bring a swift end to Snoke,” Hux continues. “The First Order has many allies. One of whom you all know…” And he turns his head to Kylo. Kylo strides to Hux’s side. “Lord Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, has defeated one of our greatest enemies…”

The whole audience holds their breath for Kylo to speak. It is an incredible feeling. _Addictive_.

Kylo steps forward.

“The last Jedi is dead,” Kylo screams to the masses, “I killed _Luke Skywalker!_ ”

The people erupt in clamour. It echoes along the walls, deafening, ecstatic. Slowly Hux turns his head, and through the mask, stares into Kylo’s eyes. It lasts only a moment.

Everything after that blurs. Hux continues to speak, imploring, commanding, praising, while Kylo stands by his side, drunk on it all. In the Force, he feels the masses’ frenzy.

He is uncertain when it ends. He only knows that suddenly he is aware of walking back to his quarters, the echo of Hux’s voice reverberating in his skull. Vader had already gone, and Hux had been surrounded by his officers and protection squadron.

They had looked at each other from across the room.

As Kylo walks back, the hour 2300 has nearly passed. Hux’s meeting with Colonel Matae must be about to commence. He does not care. He enters his quarters. He opens the secure line to Hux and writes, _Come to my quarters._

No answer.

Kylo growls quietly, takes off his robes, folds them and puts them back onto the former resting place of Vader’s mask. For a moment he stands there, naked, tracing a finger over the blood-crusted cloth. He steps into the refresher for a quick shower. The hot water patters down onto his skin. Kylo leans against the shower wall, hand sliding down his stomach. He’s half-hard already and it takes only a few pulls of his hand to have him panting. He bites his lip, hand working over his dick, remembering how the masses roared, and how they had heeded each of Hux’s words. From behind, he slides a finger down his balls and towards his hole, rubbing slowly. Shame heats his face, and he feels a blush spreading along his chest, arousal uncoiling in his stomach. On a whim, he sinks down onto his knees. He imagines sucking Hux’s cock, choking on it, balls slapping against his chin. Meanwhile he pushes the tip of his middle finger into his hole. The stretch burns lightly with only the water to ease the way. He lets go. Sudden anger flares up in him and mixes with his shame. He rises, gnashing his teeth. He turns the water cold until his erection subsides, and he exhales deep breaths as not to shiver. Out of the shower, he rubs his skin dry and red. The cloth of the towel catches against his more prominent scars. On his arm the one Vader had given him, the one Daion had stitched up. Without care, Kylo presses his fingers against it. It is still bright and red, not yet completely healed.

His comm vibrates.

Kylo’s heartbeat quickens. He snatches it from the desk where he’d left it. It’s a message from Hux.

_Half an hour._

Without thinking, Kylo types back: _OK._

He throws on a loose robe, tied at his waist. He tries to quiet his mind, sit and meditate, but his heart is fluttering in its beats, and adrenaline spikes in his blood. He cannot concentrate. He thinks of the kiss before the speech, how Hux’s voice had quivered. Kylo is uncertain of what it makes him feel.

By the time Hux demands entrance to his quarters, Kylo is high-strung. His fingers tremble as he places them on the control panel, opening the door.

Hux has dark shadows underneath his eyes. His face is wan, and yet his eyes gleam pallid green.

For a moment, they just stare at each other.

Then Kylo steps aside and lets him in. With measured steps, Hux walks into the room. Carefully he takes off his greatcoat and drapes it over the back of a chair. He turns back to Kylo. Kylo swallows thickly, watches Hux advance like a scalpel slicing flesh. When Hux places his palm on Kylo’s chest, Kylo sucks in a shivering breath, nostrils flaring. The direction is simple. Kylo follows it, moves backward and to the bedroom. Their steps are mirror-inverted and in cadence.

They arrive at the bed and Hux steps closer. He unfastens Kylo’s robes with deft fingers, without dally. The cloth slides down and pools at Kylo’s feet. He stands naked before Hux, who assesses him.

“Turn around,” Hux says quietly.

Kylo obeys. Hux’s hand on his back, pushing lightly. Kylo lies down on his stomach and presses his face into the sheets. There’s the sound of leather sliding over skin. Hux is taking his gloves off. A low thud. Then hot breath on his ass and Hux’s fingers digging into his ass cheeks, spreading them apart. Kylo is about to protest, about to ask what Hux is _doing_ , but he chokes on his words.

Hux’s wet tongue slides over his hole. Kylo fists his hands into the sheets. Embarrassment burns on his face, heart racing, thoughts making way for those red tinges of heat. Lips close over his hole, and Kylo feels himself quiver. Then Hux’s tongue presses inside and Kylo stops thinking altogether. There is only this, Hux’s fingers digging into his cheeks hard enough to bruise and Hux’s tongue, moving inside him, pushing in and out. The sound of it is filthy, and soon drowned out by the broken moans slipping from Kylo’s lips. Hux does not relent until Kylo is writhing underneath him, tears stinging at his eyes, mouth wide and lips bitten red, begging for more. He’s rubbing himself against the sheets, not daring to take himself in hand.

Hux stops.

Kylo mewls, arching his back. When he pushes into Hux’s mind there is an image of Kylo, sprawled out on the bed before him, skin dotted with birthmarks, ass cheeks spread, debauched, hole red and slicked loose with spit. A shiver of disgust goes through Hux, and within it, the taste of triumph.

Kylo hears Hux get on his feet. He walks over to the bedside cabinet and retrieves lube and a condom. Kylo watches him with lowered eyes, tears smeared on his face. Hux does not spare him a glance until he is behind Kylo again. The wet sound of the lube being opened. A coated finger rubs over his entrance, then Hux pushes inside, fondling, before adding a second finger, and shortly after, a third. The gel trickles over his crack and down his balls. The stretch is nearly too much and not at all enough. Kylo forces himself back against Hux’s fingers that gape him open swiftly. The squelching of it echoes in the room. It’s revolting. Shame lets Kylo bury his face into the sheets again. In Hux’s mind he can _see_ how Hux’s fingers glide in and out of his hole, he can feel Hux’s revulsion and Hux’s arousal, too.

“Please,” Kylo chokes out, “Please.”

Hux rams in harder, fingers crooking and brushing over something that makes Kylo’s head spin. His dick is so stiff, it’s nearly painful. He wants Hux inside. _Needs_ it.

“Please,” he repeats.

Hux replies nothing, but suddenly tugs out his fingers. The sound of a condom being ripped open. A harsh exhale. Kylo feels the tip of Hux’s cock against his hole. He holds his breath. Hux slams inside. And stills. Kylo whimpers, a half-broken sob on his lips.

A hand twists into Kylo’s hair, pulling his head back, another grips his hip and makes him shift onto his elbows and knees. Hux mounts him, pushes in slow and harsh and _deep_. In his mind, the expanse of Kylo’s bent back, the image of his cock sliding in and out of Kylo’s slick hole, balls slapping against his own. Through the haze of it, Hux thinks that it all makes terrible sense. That he would have Kylo underneath him, this beast of a man. Kylo shivers at it, tearing deeper into Hux’s mind: once more the rifts of reddish light rupturing the skies. And also, the image of Kylo, blood-spattered, as he had appeared before them after returning to the _Finalizer_.

There is a nameless thing in Hux, a wide-eyed appetence.

He fucks him harder.

“Please touch me,” Kylo begs, dick hard and heavy between his thighs.

Hux doesn’t. Instead he yanks Kylo’s head to the side by the hair, so he can look at Kylo while he takes his cock. Kylo bites his lip, heat spreading along his veins, anger and shame, but it feels too good. Hux’s brows are knit, and his lips parted, revealing a sliver of teeth. Suddenly, Hux lets go of his hip and instead drags his fingers over Kylo’s lips, _His soft mouth_ Hux thinks with repulsion and pushes two fingers in it. Kylo wraps his lips around them and sucks. He can feel Hux twitch inside him. Hux’s pace becomes erratic.

When Hux comes he thinks of Luke’s blood smeared on Kylo’s face. Then there is only white-hot bliss.

Hux stills. Slowly, he eases out of Kylo, a soft sound falling from his lips. Kylo shivers. He’s still untouched, and now sinks down on the bed, burying his face into his arms. He hears Hux get up and walk to the bathroom. Water running. Then Hux comes back. Kylo turns to look at him, half delirious, cock curving up onto his stomach, red and leaking precome. Hux has taken off his uniform blazer, and rolled up his sleeves. Kylo parts his lips, but does not speak. Hux sits down on the bed and slides between Kylo’s legs. He fucks three fingers into Kylo. And wraps his lips around Kylo’s dick.

“Oh god,” Kylo chokes out, head falling back, shuddering.

Hux’s mouth is heat and suction and finally, _finally_ —Kylo bucks his hips upward, but Hux keeps him down. He works Kylo’s cock quickly and mercilessly, while crooking his fingers inside Kylo. Shortly before Kylo comes, Hux retrieves his fingers, and replaces his mouth with his hand.

“Look at me.”

Kylo opens his eyes, and does. And comes.

Hux strokes him through it. He’s trembling all over. He pulls Hux closer and Hux watches him with narrowed eyes, pupils blown. Then Hux offers his come-coated fingers to Kylo and Kylo tongues them clean, one by one. Afterwards, Hux makes to move away, but Kylo yanks him back and presses his lips against Hux’s. He can feel ire well up in Hux, and disgust, too. Kylo does not care. He kisses Hux messily, and Hux kisses him back. Kylo opens his mouth, needy, sucking on Hux’s tongue. Without thought he lets his hands wander, up Hux’s back, over his arms to his inner wrists, caressing his pulse. It pounds quick and hard.

Hux breaks the kiss.

“Don’t,” Hux hisses, catching Kylo’s hands. Then Hux sinks down next to him, exhaling loudly. Kylo turns towards him. Hux’s face is wan, and the shadows underneath his eyes, deep.

A quick glance to his clock tells Kylo it is already after 0300.

Tentatively Kylo reaches out. He turns off the light. Hux doesn’t move.

 

Sometime in the night, Kylo feels Hux stir against him, skin hot and sweaty. In the dark, he finds Hux’s mouth, and they kiss while Kylo rids Hux of his clothes. Then there is only skin against skin. Hands touching and pulling, hot breaths between them as their tongues press against each other.

Hux wraps his fingers around both of their cocks.

Not a word between them.

 

The next morning, Hux dresses quietly. He looks at Kylo only once and briefly.

He leaves.

Kylo watches him.

When the door slides shut, Kylo gets up and goes into the refresher. He splashes cold water onto his face. Quietly, he looks at himself in the mirror. On his arm, the unhealed scar. He remembers Daion stitching it up. Remembers all the other times Daion stitched him or Issar up, remembers how one day, a decade ago, it had been the other way round. How they’d been stranded on an Outer Rim planet after an ambush and how Issar had tended to Daion’s wounds, and Daion, gnashing his teeth, not making a sound. Issar’s touch had never lingered. They had been close. All three of them.

Kylo turns from the mirror and steps into the shower.

When he comes out of the shower, he has two new messages on his comm.

One is from Hux, telling him curtly that the traitors whom he and Vader had given false memories, have been released and now are on their way to Snoke. Monitoring the traitor’s communication had disclosed that they had already contacted Snoke, and delivered the message.

The second one is from Issar. A request to meet in the sparring room. To observe the progress of the new recruit.

Kylo dresses quickly, and shudders when the fabric of his robes grazes over the bruises on his ass. For a breathless second, he thinks of Hux’s tongue inside him. Thinks of Hux sleeping next to him. In the dark, Kylo had listened to his breathing. The storm had still raged outside in Fresia’s continuous night, obscuring the stars.

Now, Kylo fastens his mask, listens to the cogs sliding into place.

The way to the sparring room is short. When he passes by a group of stormtroopers, he can feel their fear in the Force, but also, admiration. They have all seen the speech.

He enters the sparring room. It is empty except for Issar and the new recruit. The Force shudders along the walls, and in it, whispers of old, names called upon of some warriors century-long dead. To strengthen. To _use_.

And both Issar and the recruit _do_ use them.

As swathes of shadow they move. Issar’s bright hair, like light carved into black. There is no grace in how Issar moves, only brutality. She wields a weapon of her own crafting, a blaster carbine fashioned with blades on its edges.

And the other one, the _recruit_ —

They clash, steel against steel, black robes shadowing them.

They come to a halt.

The recruit rises from where Issar has shoved her to her knees. She stands taller than Issar by nearly a head. The robes swathe her but do not conceal what’s underneath. There is not an ounce of needless fat on her body. She’s all lean muscle. Skin of a dark olive tone, short bole-brown hair, reaching to her jutting cheekbones. She wears her grin like a blade. Her eyes are dark brown, lashes and brows both thick and full. She grips tighter, her Twenchok foil. Light slithers over its four cloven spikes of steel.

“Finally,” she says. Her voice is like ash, full of the memory of smoke and fire.

“Your name,” Kylo demands.

She takes a step closer.

“Raga,” she says.

She is tall, but still he is taller. He circles her with heavy steps. And she is ready, he knows it. There is no fear in her. She does not trace his movements. She does not need to. Kylo knows, she would parry even before he were he to attack. And yet. Her confidence is a precarious thing. He fights the want to cut her down. To make her bend and _bow_. Issar stands unmoved, two steps behind her, face blank, but Kylo feels her animosity. Issar thinks of Daion still. But Daion is dead.

“You would do well,” he speaks to Raga, voice neutralised by his vocoder, “to know your place.”

He faces her. She juts her chin forward, brows drawn together.

“I know my place,” Raga states.

“Good. You are under my command now.”

“Yes,” she says.

“You will call me master,” he snaps.

“Yes, master.”

He takes his lightsaber from his belt. Activates it.

He feels Raga reach into the Force, coat her Twenchok foil with it as to protect it from the plasma blade of his lightsaber.

“Show me what you can do,” Kylo hisses.

And surges ahead.

The first blow she takes, managing to slide her foil along his lightsaber and push it away. The second blow makes her step back. Hair falls into her face. She grits her teeth, trying to keep him at bay. She won’t for long. Kylo pushes all his weight against her. She growls. She slips away, and quickly, sidestepping him. With a shout she slashes at him. He catches her movement with the Force. And throws her back. She gets back up and strikes her foil at his neck. Kylo ducks under her blow, foil grazing his skin but not enough to cut. Then he is behind her and twirls his lightsaber as she turns around. He brings it down on her swiftly. Her eyes go wide. Still no fear. She reaches into the Force and slows his strike enough to move to the side. Kylo swirls around, and tears into the Force. He wraps it around her neck in a vicious snare and yanks her to the side. She goes down on her knees. She knows she is defeated, but it is not enough, not _yet_ —

Kylo wrenches at her mind. Cracks it open, and she lets him—as she _should_ —

And he sees her as a child, tears smudged on her dirty cheeks, determined, standing over two bloodied bodies. Her grandparents. It is a memory given freely.

Kylo retreats. He deactivates his lightsaber, fastens the hilt back onto his belt.

“Stand,” he says.

She stands, bracing herself on her knees. She coughs twice, then straightens up. Her neck is marked by a band of bruises. A fitting collar.

“You are not yet my knight,” he says.

She presses her lips, raking a hand through her sweaty hair.

“You will prove yourself to me. Or die.”

“Yes, master,” Raga says and looks up at him. Fire in her eyes.

Kylo glances at Issar who has been watching, leaned against the wall.

“Continue,” he commands.

Issar nods and pushes herself from the wall.

Kylo leaves.

His heart is beating fast by the time he returns to his quarters. Adrenaline rushes through his veins.

Raga is strong. Perhaps strong enough to survive the battle with Snoke.

Either way. They need her power.

Kylo swallows hard. He does not want to think of Snoke. Of his promises, his praise-laced threads and visions. This age has no place for his kind. Not anymore.

Before Kylo reaches his quarters, his comm vibrates.

It’s a message from Hux.

_Are you aware of Lord Vader’s doing?_

Kylo types back: _What_

Hux’s answer comes a second later:

_On the ground. My source tells me it’s a funeral._

Kylo’s grip around the comm tightens. Something ugly twists inside him. He does not reply. Instead he turns on his heel. Sends a message to Rho to have a shuttle ready.

He walks quickly, then takes the turbo shaft to the hangar. By the time Kylo arrives, a shuttle to the ground is ready to depart. Kylo dismisses the pilot, and takes her place. Rho glances at him, lips tight. Their gaze lies upon him heavy, but they knows better than to ask.

The storm has abated. Still, clouds clot the horizons, but above, the night is clean and cold. It is twenty-two regular days long. Twenty two days of continuous darkness.

Kylo feels Vader’s presence some way to the South, and in the Force Vader’s heartbeat resounds. Its dark pulsing betokens sorrow, as dark as the night around them, yet starless.

When Kylo is close, he stops and exits the shuttle. The salty scent of the ocean hangs in the air, the stench of fish. Vader must feel him closing in. Kylo walks slowly, prolongs whatever anticipation Vader might have.

Then Kylo sees it. The pyre.

Flames lick into the dark. Their resplendence flickers on Vader’s helmet. Vader stands before the pyre, his back to Kylo. He does not turn around. His crest towers, and his hands are clenched in fists. What agony he bears, he bears it silently. And on the pyre, Luke burns. A dark silhouette within the flames that tongue at him, crackling.

Next to Vader, Kylo comes to a halt. For a moment, he simply stares ahead, watches the fire devour Luke’s corpse. Then he turns tówards Vader. Eyes wide, heart pounding.

“I am all that you have now.”

Vader fronts him.

“Leave,” he grits.

Kylo breathes in harshly. He does not move.

Vader turns back to the pyre. When Vader speaks, it is a promise and a pledge.

“After the vanquishment of Snoke, I will kill you.”

Adrenaline spikes in Kylo’s blood once more. He says nothing, but remains. And watches both: The crackling flames climbing high, eating away at Luke. And Vader.  

 

Kylo leaves Vader when white smoke wafts  into the night air.

He returns to the _Finalizer_. He sees another shuttle embarking. It must be Colonel Matae.

Kylo’s mind is quiet. Vader’s words echo in his skull. How Vader had stood there, a monolith of black if not for the refulgence of the flames. And how Vader must have felt Kylo like a knife in his flesh. Kylo, who had slain Luke. There. By Vader’s side.

Kylo shudders.

The day has not yet passed halfway, but the night makes it seem different. It lays a silence upon Fresia, and all who abide on it.

By the end of tomorrow, Kylo knows they will be on their way to Snoke.

Kylo pushes the thought away.

He exits his shuttle and leaves it to an officer. Not far from him he sees Colonel Matae exit her own. She joins him as he makes his way to the command bridge. They do not speak. She is flanked by two soldiers, who now fall away to walk behind them.

When they reach the command bridge, Hux’s gaze falls to Kylo before it veers to Colonel Matae, making Kylo’s heart beat fast.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think! Esp about Raga, and the smut.**  
>  Random info: Issar is 5'3". ♥
> 
>  
> 
> (talk to me about sin on my [kylux tumblr](http://kyluxxury.tumblr.com).


	3. Enkrateia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love and thanks goes to my [darling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who betas this story with the utmost wisdom, generosity and thoughtfulness, and who makes me the happiest person on earth when we talk about either of our writing.

Kylo looks at Hux, heart beating fast. Hux stands, back straight, uniform impeccable. His light green eyes, framed by golden lashes, cold, yet—

An officer approaches Hux before either Kylo or Colonel Matae can reach him. The officer bends slightly, whispering into Hux’s ear. Hux’s jaw shifts. His gaze hardens. He nods sharply and dismisses the officer.

Matae reaches Hux.

“Sir, we must talk,” she says.

Hux nods again. He procures his comm and with deft fingers types a message. Then he gestures for Kylo to follow them. Their shoulders brush. He can see Hux swallow, his lips twitch. They enter sector 6, the small unit of classified bureaus and rooms underneath the command bridge. While Hux instructs one of the guards to give Colonel Matae momentary clearance, Kylo glances ahead in the corridor. The control room Hux lead him to the day before is to their left. With a shudder Kylo thinks of how Hux had calmly watched his soldiers die. No, not his soldiers. _Traitors_.

Now, Hux leads them into a room to the right. It’s the situation room. War council.

“The others should arrive shortly,” Hux says, striding in.

A long table is placed in the middle of the room and a monitor dominates the wall on the foot-end of the table. Colonel Matae stands stiffly, thin lips pressed together. Whatever news she harbours, Hux is already aware.

The doors open. Captain Phasma walks in first, helmet removed. She towers, platinum blond hair neatly combed back, mouth turned downward. She’s followed by Colonel Sahia who throws Kylo a sour glance, and Lieutenant General Garth, who with her grey hair and dark eyes commands authority despite her slender frame. Behind her enters a man whom Kylo has not seen before. He is smaller than Kylo by at least a head and his fingers move nervously, fidgeting with his sleeves, drumming against his thighs like insect legs.

They take their respective seats at the table, leaving only Colonel Matae and the nervous man standing unsurely. Hux gestures them to sit down.

Kylo leans against the wall to Hux’s left.

“Speak,” Hux says, addressing Colonel Matae.

She bolts her spine straight.

“Sir. Payment has been declined.”

The nervous man thrums his fingers against the table. Hux veers his gaze towards the man.

“ _Well_?” Hux asks, steel in his voice.

The man does not meet Hux’s eyes.

“I cannot yet say for certain...” The man’s voice reminds Kylo of finely ground stone, powdery.

“Continue,” Hux commands.

“It seems,” the man says, “that our accounts have been frozen.”

Silence rings in the room. No-one moves.

“How is that possible?” Lieutenant General Garth asks.

The man turns to her, but keeps his gaze on the table.

“It shouldn’t be,” he says. “No-one has the clearance. And the bank has no reason to betray us, we pay an interest rate high enough to bribe the heads of their corporation.”

“It seems someone has bested us,” Colonel Sahia says, sardonic.

“No,” Lieutenant Garth interjects. “No-one would dare. And the New Republic Bank wouldn’t want us as their enemy.”

“Indeed,” Hux agrees. “No-one would oppose us this openly, except for one.”

“ _Snoke_ ,” Kylo hisses and all the heads turn towards him.

“A well calculated move,” Hux says.

“He is cutting off our funding,” Colonel Sahia says, incredulous.

“We must act quickly, then” Lieutenant General Garth presses.

“Yes,” Hux agrees.

“How?” Colonel Sahia asks.

Captain Phasma exhales loudly through her nose, throwing Colonel Sahia a cold glance.

“We have to eliminate whatever threat the bank thinks Snoke holds over their heads,” Captain Phasma says.

Colonel Sahia turns to Captain Phasma, once more raising a curved eyebrow. His black hair glints in the cool light, and both mock and spite twine into his silken voice when he speaks next.

“And how would you propose that, _captain_?”

Phasma smiles, baring her teeth. She is on the verge of answering—

“Please,” Lieutenant General Garth says, holding up a hand in a placating manner.

They both lean back.

“We have to contact our forces near Coruscant,” Hux says. “We must intimidate the bank, and quickly. Eliminate those who bend their necks to Snoke.”

Kylo sees Colonel Matae swallow hard. And Kylo understands, Hux lets Colonel Matae listen as both reassurement and threat.

“Sir—” Colonel Sahia interjects. “These are wealthy and dangerous people—”

“We have tolerated them long enough. We must cleanse the New Republic Bank. It is time they understand we must not be toyed with.”

“I agree,” Lieutenant General Garth says.

“What spies do you have currently on Coruscant?” Hux asks, turning to Sahia.

“Bazine Netal, Trussa Di, and those who work under Gignomai’s command,” Colonel Sahia answers.

“Very well. Compile a list of those who betrayed us to Snoke.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then eradicate them, all at once. It must happen in a single night.”

Lieutenant General Garth nods. “Yes. Have replacements ready. Make _certain_ they are loyal to us.”

“So threats and bribes,” Colonel Sahia says.

“Yes. Use whatever we have in coin, but be reasonable. If they have children, take them as _recruits_ ,” Lieutenant General Garth says. All know she means hostages.

“And tread carefully,” Hux adds. “Those who do not know that our accounts are currently frozen, must not find out.”

“Yes, sir,” Colonel Sahia says.

“Time is essential,” Hux says. “Start at once.”

Sahia nods and stands gracefully. With the slant of his high cheekbones and his aquiline nose, he has the profile of imperial royalty. He curls his lips as he nods at Phasma, and spares Kylo only a glance. Kylo remembers too well how Sahia had almost called him a traitor when Kylo had held back the location of the rebel base after he had interrogated Poe Dameron.

Then Sahia is out of the door.

Hux veers his gaze towards the nervous man, whose fingers lie on the table, twitching like a dying bug’s legs.

“You have failed the First Order,” Hux says.

The nervous man slowly raises his head to look at Hux.

“Recoup, and you may keep your position. See to it that Colonel Sahia succeeds.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Hux does not need to mention what should happen were he to fail again. Kylo would have killed the man right here if Hux had let him. Kylo slides over the surface of Hux’s mind: Hux is loath to waste resources. Hux knows the danger now looming over the man’s head will drive him to efficiency.

“Dismissed,” Hux says.

“Yes, sir.” The man stands and scutters out of the room.

Hux turns to Colonel Matae.

“As you can see we _handle_ whatever stands in our way. We will pay for your expenses in coin, colonel.”

Colonel Matae nods. “Very well, sir.” Her voice does not waver, but Kylo can feel her fear. And she is wise enough to know that any wrong step may cost her her life.

“Do you have any further concerns?” Hux asks.

“No, sir.”

“You may leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

It leaves only Captain Phasma and Lieutenant General Garth with them.

“Another issue,” Hux says and turns to Lieutenant General Garth. “What of the intelligence we sent to Metellos?”

“I’m waiting for further reports. So far, we have captured ten of Snoke’s spies. They’ve been executed. No information will leave Metellos or any of the planets in close proximity. Snoke will believe we are there, restocking on kyber crystals.”

“Very well.”

“I suggest we forge reports of a conflict with the local trade guild. Snoke will think it must be due to the frozen accounts. It may lead Snoke to think of further delay on our part.”

“Yes, very good,” Hux says.

Lieutenant General Garth turns to Captain Phasma.

“Have it done by zeta shift.”

“Yes, lieutenant general,” she says.

Hux looks at the lieutenant general, an understanding seems to pass between them. Lieutenant General Garth stands and leaves, Captain Phasma at her heel.

Kylo is alone with Hux.

Hux types something on his data pad. Kylo looks at the straight line of Hux’s slender spine, the steel in the set of his shoulders.

For a moment, there is silence.

Kylo takes off his mask.

“Did you send for Lord Vader, too?” Kylo asks into the quiet.

Hux does not turn around.

“I did.”

“Then he’s still at the...funeral.”

Hux stores away his data pad into the pocket of his greatcoat. He gets up and turns to Kylo.

“You must not speak a word of it to anyone,” Hux says.

Kylo looks into Hux’s eyes, the pale hue of his irises. He replies nothing.

“I have had the information spread that the pyre is an ancient Sith ritual. You are to confirm that,” Hux continues. His voice is steady, but a breath trembles in it, ever slightly. It has nothing to do with what they speak of, Kylo knows this. Suddenly, Kylo’s heart races. He reaches out, grazes his gloved fingers against Hux’s arm. Hux sucks in a harsh breath.

Then Kylo is leaning in. Hux meets him halfway. Their lips brush.

The pounding of his own heartbeat echoes in Kylo’s ears. Hux’s fingers digging into his shoulder, Hux’s mouth, Hux’s tongue, sliding between Kylo’s lips. Slowly.

Kylo presses his thumb against Hux’s wrist. Hux’s pulse is so fast.

They part. Hux’s pulse stutters against Kylo’s thumb. For a moment, they still. Just look. Breathe. Kylo can feel the warmth of Hux’s body.

Hux steps back. Kylo lets go of him.

They do not speak. Hux leaves the room first. Kylo puts his mask back on and follows him, his heartbeat deafening.

 

Kylo returns to his quarters.

He walks quickly and thinks of nothing. He can still feel Hux’s lips against his own.

By the time the doors of his quarters close behind Kylo, his comm vibrates. It’s a circular mail, announcing their departure from Fresia in the morning of the next day instead of the planned evening. It is not unwise, Kylo thinks.

And yet. To face Snoke so soon.

From Fresia they will need little more than three days until they reach Snoke’s abode: Rakata Prime. The once-capital of the Infinite Empire. And more than on Moraband, the dark side of the Force twines and coils in the soil of Rakata Prime. For four millennia Rakata Prime has been preserved, and for one millennium kept uninhabited, its beasts left to spawn and savage. Kylo remembers well the grey wastes, strewn with spaceship wrecks, that erstwhile had been oceans. The cracked mountains, fractured spines of seas, the talc-powdered air, the rustle of dry amaranth in the wind and the ever darkened skies. In it, one of Rakata Prime’s two moons, pale as bone.

And the Temple of the Ancients. Snoke’s marmoreal halls.

Kylo shivers. Such terror Snoke had wielded when Kylo had set foot into these halls the first time. How Snoke had sat upon his throne, how he had risen and laid out before him, the secrets of the deep.

But this. This is a new era. And there is no place for Snoke in the sway of Kylo’s vision.

Kylo must defeat him.

Venom rises in Kylo’s thoughts like bile in his throat.

He has tarried long enough. He takes his comm and sends a message to his knights. He tells them to be at the sparring room in an hour and to bring Raga along.

The remaining time Kylo uses to eat and rest. But his thoughts circle around that formless shape, Snoke’s other apprentice. How long has Snoke trained them? What power does this apprentice hold?

No matter. With his knights and with Vader at his side, they will defeat Snoke and his pupil.

 

Kylo awaits his knights in the sparring room.

He sits quietly, cross-legged, palms on his thighs. He faces the door, but his eyes are closed in meditation. Slow heartbeat. Level breathing. Inhale through his nostrils. Exhale through his mouth.

He feels them approaching. Three swathes of power in the Force.

Issar enters first, followed by Rho. Raga comes last.

Kylo opens his eyes.

Issar stares at him, grey eyes darkened, mouth pressed into a thin line. Rho keeps their gaze down, but no less Kylo catches the glimmer of fire in it. And Raga. Her face carefully blank, but with the edges of emotion still visible on her sharp features.

“Sit,” he commands.

They sit, forming a circle. Issar to Kylo’s right, Rho to his left and Raga opposite him.

“Close your eyes.”

They do. Kylo beholds them a moment before he closes his eyes as well.

He reaches for them in the Force. They submit.

The last time he’d done this had been with the six of them. Daion, Bysshe, Issar, Rho, Quia and Zall. With two traitors in his midst. And he had not known. It seems an eternity away.  

In the Force, Issar offers the first memory. It is of her, Kylo and Daion, stranded on an Outer Rim planet. That time Issar had stitched Daion up. None of them had spoken. Heartbeats quick, senses heightened. Blood dried on their hands and faces, spattered all across their robes, and they had not smiled but exaltation had been in their gazes.

Kylo swallows and allows the memory to fill him, as it fills all four of them. Allows to experience it as Issar experienced it.

Rho is next. Their memory is a rush of many a moment: the first time Rho had seen Bysshe as Kylo had dragged Bysshe from the sea, Bysshe’s pale face and paler eyes, glint of pearls in his blond hair, skin like nacre, incandescent in the merciless light of his home planet’s sun. The first time Bysshe had kissed them. And how it had tasted sweet and acrid. How Rho had wanted more, but had never asked for it. How it had been enough just to be. How it isn’t anymore. Moments of insomnia, moments of deep sleep and its phantoms, moments of waking.

And a name, cursed with every heartbeat, resounding in Issar too: Hux.

Kylo grits his teeth, but he allows it, must allow it. The memories fill him until he nearly chokes on them. Then subside.

Raga’s memory is one of childhood. An Outer Rim planet with the name of Arrák’Dyn. A beige desert, the whispering of sands underneath a blazing-blue sky. Heat haze blurring the air over the horizon. And the barren dunes behind the settlement they called a town—filled with wreckage of old Imperial ships, dismantled, robbed of all that might be used or sold. There are many such planets, she’d been told, wastes filled with corroding mementos of the Empire. Raga had wandered through this ship graveyard, dreaming of the their cannons blazing, imagining the New Republic under fire of these cannons, the New Republic that had executed her parents as traitors, forced her to flee with her grandparents to this no man’s land, branding them _exiles_ , the New Republic that had collapsed trade and squandered the galaxy’s riches, impoverishing all planets outside of the Core.

Raga had imagined the New Republic burning. Then—the Force.

The great skeleton of a _I_ -class Star Destroyer had started to tremble. Dust had risen.

Raga had stared at it, breathless, awed by her own power.

It shudders through Kylo now. That _power_. And for a moment, Kylo gets lost in it. Swims in the feeling of it, the rush of it. Kylo can feel his eyes roll back into his skull, his fingers on his thighs grab, sharp nails cut into his flesh— He shudders again. Heat claws at his back, the hollow of his knees, his throat—

It ends. He regains control. He feels Issar and Rho shiver, just like him. Carefully, Kylo pulls them back in the Force.

Shared breaths. A moment of quiet. Their energies pulse in the Force, their heartbeats are as one.

A memory of his own flashes through Kylo. Warmth. Ileenium’s setting sun. His mother’s face.

Her scent. Her arms around him. His cheek pressed against her greying hair. How she had then forgiven him, wordless.

And nightfall. His vision— A swath of destiny—inexorable, terrible—beautiful.  

Through the veils of memory, he hears someone gasp, he’s unsure who of them it is. Kylo lets the memory pass through him, feels himself moved by it as by a surge. Only slowly it ebbs away.

When he opens his eyes, his cheeks are wet.

Their breathing has aligned, and still their hearts beat in the same rhythm. Raga stares at him, and something raw lies in her eyes, some thing of... _understanding._ Kylo does not want it. Anger tingles in his fingertips, but he says nothing, just veers his gaze towards Issar and Rho. A wet glint in both of their eyes. Kylo knows the exercise has fulfilled its purpose: to strengthen their bond. It is not only shared memories that tie them, it is memories _relived_ together in the Force.

Now, Raga makes to stand.

“Sit,” Kylo rasps.

She sinks back down.

“Yes, master,” she says.

Kylo watches Rho and Issar exchange a quick glance.

“We will meditate,” Kylo says, “until I decide it is enough.”

They all close their eyes again. The Force around them quivers, moves and knits about and between them.

“Follow me,” Kylo murmurs, and in the Force, extends his hand. They take it.

 

It is late in the night hours when Kylo returns to his chambers. Exhaustion weighs down his limbs and lies over him like vapour, clouding his thinking, leaving only the echo of those new memories.

He disrobes slowly, movements unfocused. He feels weakened, as if his skin had been torn, his ribs cracked and bent open to expose the trembling nakedness of his flesh. And midst it, his beating heart.

He sinks to his bed, and in the darkness, he thinks of Hux. And the kiss they shared.

He turns onto his stomach, presses his face into the pillow. He swallows thickly. A tightness knots in his chest, a bared thing that _wants_. So he lies and turns and stills, and when slumber finally comes, it is frail and leaves him all the more fatigued.

Strange utterances follow him into his dreams, some familiar in sound. He does not remember them when he wakes.

Sweat slicks his brow, sticks his hair to his forehead and the sheets to his skin. He peels himself out of the sheets. He rubs a hand over his face, fingers catching against the scar. In the cold air, he shivers. Quickly, he goes into the refresher and takes a shower. The water patters down on him, warming his limbs and slowly clearing the fog from his thoughts. Afterwards, he dresses. A glance to his alarm clock tells him it is 0813. The preparations for leaving Fresia must be well under way. Kylo checks his comm and skims through the circular mail that schedules departure for 0900.

He devours a protein bar, puts on his mask and leaves his rooms. The hallways are empty, all special Forces are probably on the ground, seeing to it that all goes orderly and quickly. As he makes his way to the command bridge, the floors clog with officers and stormtroopers going this way or that, the usual controlled throng of people following orders.

On the bridge the rapid noise of commands fills the air. Outside the viewports, Fresia’s night still holds sway. Vader is nowhere to be seen, but Kylo spots Hux, talking to Colonel Matae. Hux faces away from Kylo, his hands are clasped loosely at his back and spine bolted straight. Hux is wearing his greatcoat. It lends him weight, underlining the authority he wields. For a moment, Kylo watches him. The minute movements, the tension in his shoulders and the forcedly relaxed stance. Kylo brushes against his mind in the Force and can almost taste Hux’s alertness on the back of his own tongue. A little more than three days and they will have to face Snoke. And word must not get out. The odds are not in their favour with the reduced provisions and ammunition, but Hux knows as well as Kylo that they have to strike now or slowly be cut off of resources, risking rebellion and Snoke gathering more forces. Now, at least they can strike with an element of surprise. And they will strike hard. Kylo’s brows knit and he clenches his fists. Suddenly, Hux turns his head and glances over his shoulder at Kylo. Kylo feels his heart skip a beat. Slowly, he strides toward Hux and Colonel Matae.

“General,” Kylo says, vocoder masking his voice.

“Lord Ren,” Hux says. He dismisses Colonel Matae. She nods, does not look at Kylo, and departs, presumably to get back to the ground where she is deployed. For a second, Kylo thinks she should stay. They are in need of every good soldier. Yet, they need reliable people on planets such as Fresia that yield resources for their troops. Underneath his mask, his mouth twists. He’s torn from his thoughts, as Hux’s shoulder brushes against his as he turns. Kylo follows the motion, facing the crowd of working officers. They are yet out of earshot.

“Do you know how Lord Vader fares?” Hux asks.

Kylo looks at Hux, but Hux’s face betrays no emotion.

“No.”

“Perhaps you should inquire,” Hux says. He turns to look at Kylo, too.

“Was something reported?”

“Nothing.”

“That...troubles you,” Kylo says.

Hux’s lips twitch. “It’d be preferable to know after the recent events.”

Hux means of course the funeral. Kylo clenches his fists again, feels adrenaline spike in his blood. He thinks of Vader’s words. _After the vanquishment of Snoke, I will kill you._

“I’ll go to him then,” Kylo says.

“Good.”

Hux’s gaze lingers. Kylo swallows and turns to leave.

Hux’s fingers circle around his arm, stopping him. Kylo freezes. His eyes widen. His heart hammers in his chest, drowning out all sound. He turns back to Hux, Hux’s hand falls from his arm.

Kylo watches Hux’s pupils dilate upon realising what he’s just done. Hux says nothing.

They stare at each other. Kylo leaves.

 

His mind is blank on his way to Vader’s quarters. Kylo does not dare to think.

He does not notice time passing. Then he’s there, before Vader’s door. Vader’s presence pulses darkly in the Force, streaked with rifts of red, like dusk bleeding through anthracite clouds.

Kylo presses his hand against the control panel of the door, demanding entry. The door slides open. Kylo enters. He hears the whirr of the machine that maintains Vader’s armour, his durasteel limbs and what remains of his flesh. Kylo takes off his mask, then follows the sound into the room that the machine dominates. Vader sits in it, as on a throne, the machine’s spindly arms of durasteel working on several parts of his exoskeleton, the susurrus and crackling electricity in the air. Kylo watches. Like this, Vader is vulnerable.

“Don’t you fear me?”

Vader does not look at him.

“You would not harm me,” Vader says.

His voice rings in Kylo’s head. Kylo advances with three quick steps. He looks down at Vader, fingers trembling at his sides. He wants to touch. That exposed flesh. Wants to _feel_.

His breath goes quick. He sinks down on his knees. And does. His gloved fingers graze against Vader’s chest. Vader’s head jerks to the side.

“ _No_ ,” Vader hisses.

Kylo draws back. Takes off his glove.

“Grandfather,” Kylo whispers and slides his fingers over a patch of bared skin of Vader’s torso. Kylo exhales a shuddering breath, moves closer until he can look into Vader’s eyes. The same blue as Luke’s. Unlike his own dark eyes. Kylo feels the shiver that goes through Vader against his fingertips.

“Move _aside_ or I will break your _neck_.”

“You can’t,” Kylo whispers, voice staccato. Until the machine has finished, Vader is rendered motionless. _Powerless._

The Force broils around them, snares around Kylo’s neck, but Kylo keeps it at bay, feels only a tightening over his throat, reducing his air supply. It’s not unpleasant. He bends lower, looking into Vader’s eyes, watching him watch.

“I’m all you have,” Kylo murmurs.

“ _Move aside._ ”

Vader’s disgust is almost desperate. There is rage in Vader, and there is also terror. Kylo slides his fingers over another bit of exposed flesh. He is careful to avoid the machine’s mechanical arms working on Vader. Vader’s rage renders in the Force, crackles along Kylo’s skin, sparking electricity. White-blue veins of lightning. They scald Kylo’s skin, but no more. Blood rushes in Kylo’s ears, heat gnaws at his limbs. He digs his fingernails into Vader’s flesh, leaving marks. And Vader can do nothing.

The machine finishes. Armour slides into place.

Vader is on his feet in a heartbeat. All his might crashes into Kylo. Vader throws him to the floor and pins him there with his weight. Kylo arches upward, burns himself against the Force Vader wields, eyes wide, and he knows, he _knows_ —

“You cannot kill me,” Kylo grits out.

Vader slams his fist against Kylo’s jaw. A blinding moment of pain. Then Vader’s hand tightens around Kylo’s throat, strengthened by the Force. Kylo stares up at him. He tastes blood in his mouth. He sucks it from his teeth, swallows.

“Go on. _Go on_!” Kylo presses.

Another blow bloodies his cheekbones. Kylo splays his finger against Vader’s armour, where just a moment before he’d felt naked flesh. A third strike. For a split second darkness reigns. Then Kylo seizes the Force and shoves against Vader, tears him off him. Vader stumbles backwards. Kylo gets up. He sees Vader’s hand move to the heft of his lightsaber at his belt. Then Vader stills.

“Get out,” Vader snarls.

“No.” Kylo strides closer. The Force trembles around them. Violence is but a breath away. Kylo looks up at Vader.

“You have my daughter’s eyes,” Vader says quietly, as if suddenly taken aback.

His voice echoes in the silence. Stillness.

Kylo takes a step back. Nausea rises in Kylo’s throat.

“We have to train,” Kylo grits out, to say something. Anything. “We have to train my knights. If we want to defeat Snoke.”

Vader offers nothing. Kylo turns around and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I had planned more for chapter 3 but it started to grow too big so I cut it in half. This story will have 6 chapters now.  
> -The planet in Raga's memory is a little reference to Frank Herbert's Dune series which I'm currently reading. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Talk to me on my [kylux tumblr](http://kyluxxury.tumblr.com).


	4. Peripeteia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the wait has been so long. The chapter is longer than usual to make up for it a little. I hope you still care for this story! <3  
> My thanks goes to my [beloved](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas), whose support and wise and thoughtful beta-ing is more than I could ever wish for. I love you.

**iii.**

 

Fresia’s night falls away underneath the _Finalizer_.

Kylo watches from the viewports of his rooms. The course to Rakata Prime is set.

Kylo slides his comm from his belt and sends a message to Issar, Rho and Raga to meet him at the sparring room in fifteen minutes. They have little time and they must use it. He takes a step back. His dim reflection in the viewport, pale face, the scar, and purpling bruises on his jaw and  cheekbone. Kylo touches them with the tips of his gloved fingers. He turns away.

 

Once more, Kylo arrives before his knights. He has put on his training robe and loose trousers, held tight by a wide and stiff cotton belt. He is barefoot, pacing the mats in quick strides until he hears his knights and Raga enter. They’ve brought their weapons. Issar with her blaster carbine, fashioned with blades on its edges, Rho with their twin knives, and Raga with her Twenchok foil, four cloven spikes of steel.

Kylo reaches for the weapons in the Force and wrenches them away. He crashes them against the wall behind him. They clatter to the floor.

“Later,” he rasps.

His knights nod, gazes carefully cast down. Only Raga looks at him.

Issar and Rho remove their boots and a moment later Raga follows suit. They stand next to each other before him, awaiting his command. It has nothing of the ritualistic nature he yet remembers from his training days with Luke. No prayers are muttered here. Kylo’s lips twitch.

They start with some simple exercises, loosening and stretching muscles. After that, Kylo lets them repeat the careful forms of Shien and Djem So that once Luke had taught him. Luke, who had imitated them from Vader. It does not matter that none of his knights use lightsabers. They twine the Force around their weapons when they fight which gives them similar advantages when using forms originally designed for lightsaber combat. Kylo guides them through some of the steps. Issar’s and Rho’s movements are familiar: Issar’s exact brutality and Rho’s graceful sharpness. Raga is different. Issar must’ve taught her some of the movements while training her, but Raga is imprecise. Even so, Raga is strong, and perhaps stronger than Issar. She needs refinement. For a brief moment, Kylo wonders if this is how Luke had seen him when he had been Ben Solo and trained with the other Jedi younglings. Something ugly twists inside him. Raga makes a sloppy movement and anger wells up within Kylo. He steps forward, slides underneath her outstretched arm. He’s close. With a hard kick to the hollow of her knee, he brings her down. Her gasp echoes in the room. Issar and Rho turn toward him.

“Enough,” he says, “ _Get up_.”

Raga does, teeth grit, and something flares in her gaze.

“You can do better,” Kylo spits.

Then Raga propels forward. It’s quicker than Kylo expected. She launches herself at him, and for a moment Kylo loses his balance. They both go down. She’s above him, dark eyes alight with unbridled rage. Kylo catches her fist. Her eyes widen. She stills. Kylo throws her off, has her on her stomach the next second. He grabs the nape of her neck and pushes her face into the mat. Her muscles tauten, but she does not fight back.

“You _hesitated_ ,” he hisses, draws her head back and slams it into the mat. She groans quietly. Kylo lets go. “Get up.”

Once more, she does, but this time she keeps her eyes lowered. Her fists clench at her side, shaking.

“All three of you. Attack me,” Kylo says.

Issar and Rho advance fluidly, two parts of a whole.  Yet, where Daion and Bysshe had fit into their movements, a hole gapes between them, making them vulnerable. Kylo parries two strikes, outsteps them and presses forward. Rho ducks under Kylo’s blow, but Kylo twirls around, pursues them while fending off one of Issar’s kicks. Then he has Rho by the throat and against the wall. He pushes Rho up further, moves in and brings his knee up into Rho’s stomach. Rho attempts to strike him, but Kylo steps back, crouching to escape another of Issar’s kicks. Issar follows his movement, aims for his lower sternum. Kylo parries her blow. They stare at each other. Kylo breathes hard. A smile curves his lips and it’s reflected on Issar’s face.

“You’re not strong enough,” he says.

She presses forward harder, forcing him a step back. His smile widens. Suddenly he lets go. Issar jerks forward while Kylo steps to the side. He’d have her, but then there are hands on his shoulders. Raga’s knee crashes into his back. Kylo groans, grits his teeth, turns around. Raga moves back, Rho at her side. For a second Rho and Raga look at each other. An understanding passes between them. They circle Kylo. Issar joins in.

Then they attack.

Rho is the quickest, striking at Kylo’s face. This time Kylo is not fast enough to parry. He takes the blow. As he is about to retaliate, Issar and Raga move in together. It takes all of Kylo’s strength to keep them at bay. He has to use the Force. So he does. He snakes it around Raga’s throat, throws her off and crashes her into Issar. The two of them stumble backward. Kylo turns toward Rho who now also twists the Force about themself, and not a moment too soon. When Kylo lashes out against them, it pushes them back no less.

Kylo heaves a groan. He reaches out with the Force and catapults the heft of his lightsaber from where it lies next to his boots and into his hand.

“Now,” he says, breathing heavily, “get your weapons.”

 

They train the whole day until, despite their breaks, exhaustion strikes them down. Blood on all of them. Some shallow gashes, split lips, bruises purple on their skins. Sweat slicks hair and cloth, staining the air. The Force shivers around them still. With each passing minute their movements had more and more aligned, had slowly started to fill the gaps left by Daion, Bysshe, Quia and Zall. But they are still far from the synchronism the knights once possessed. And only two more days before their arrival at Rakata Prime.

They will have to train with Vader. It must be done. A shiver runs down Kylo’s spine. Once more he touches where Vader’s bruises now fade into fresher ones.  

The knights and Raga sit on the low benches along the head-side of the training room, dabbing bacta onto their wounds. Kylo joins them, sits down. Pineapple scent fills the air. For a moment Kylo remembers, how he had lain in the bacta tank after Luke had struck him down, remembers what Hux had told him happened when they had taken Kylo out of the tank. That he had screamed for mercy. And his mother.

Kylo rises quickly, leaves the bacta pads on the bench, untouched.

“Until tomorrow,” he says.

 

When he arrives at his quarters, several messages wait on his comm. He scrolls through them, skips the chain mails. Three messages from Hux. Kylo opens the last. Hux inquires about Vader. Kylo closes the mail, places his comm onto the nightstand. Slowly he takes off his robe. His muscles ache, he feels the bruises as he moves, his knees weak, his fingers trembling from exhaustion. Only half undressed, he falls into bed. He throws an arm over his face. His breath echoes in the dark and silence. His eyelids flutter shut, and chimaeras move, where his mind sinks into sleep. Umbra-clad silhouettes, voices distorted into noise, twines of memory and prescience.

Blackened skies. Smoke belched into the air, from war machines and wrecks. Along the soil lie strewn, the white-armoured bodies of stormtroopers felled. Their flesh is torn and on it feast the beasts of Rakata Prime. Among them strides a shape, if shape it can be called, monstrous, of teeming shadows, oil-slick. And Kylo knows it to be Snoke’s other apprentice. It stands upon the body of one. Black armour and leather, blood spilling into the dry earth.

It is Vader. He does not move.

The shape continues, entering the wreck of the _Finalizer_. Kylo watches over the terror’s shoulder, blood-smeared corridors, the corpses of their soldiers made carrion for Rakata Prime’s crows. They reach the command bridge. And there, blood crusts the floor, walls, and desks like dirt. On the main viewport are pinned the bodies of all high ranking officers, bare of uniforms, skinned from the neck down, marked _traitors_. Issar, Rho and Raga are among them. Their bared muscles wet with blood. Flies buzz around them, feeding, laying their eggs into folds of flesh.

Hux is there, too. Kylo does not want to see it. Cannot see it. Must not see it. He leaves the shape, stumbles and staggers through the corridors, suddenly become a maze, repeating themselves and changing their directions before his eyes.

When finally he finds the exit, it blazes bright.

Outside, it is night, and he runs into his mother’s arms. He’s a child once more. She picks him up, stems him onto her hip. Against his ear, her heartbeat is deep and steady. She hushes him gently. Tells him all will be well. And for a blinding moment, he believes her.

She brings him to his room, tells him to wait, and leaves him. He does not want to wait. He follows her. He rounds the corner. Feels someone behind him. A hand on his shoulder, spindly fingers, apparitional. A voice in his ear. And he enters the sparring room of the younglings. He’s sixteen again. The blood of the children slicks his hands. They lie slaughtered. The voice in his ear murmurs praise. His heart beats heavy. He feels power, he feels wrath. And regret. It tears him apart. The voice says, _You are not strong enough. You never will be_. He stands before the wreck of the _Finalizer_. He turns around. The shape is before him. It blots out the stars.

Kylo wakes.

He stares into the dark. His heart hammers in his chest. Nausea twists in his gut. Then he stands, throws his robes on, and quickly leaves his room. Before he knows it, he is on his way to Hux’s quarters. The threads of nightmare, of _vision_ , bind him still and cord up his lungs.

He arrives breathless and demands entry. Hux’s doors slide open. Kylo enters.

Hux sits at his desk, lights bright despite the late hour. In his hand, a glass of whiskey and before him his data pad. He looks up now, eyes shadowed, lips thin. Then his eyes widen and he stands.

“Hux,” Kylo presses, stumbling further into the room. “Hux, we cannot advance, Snoke will _slaughter_ us.” Kylo’s close now, grabbing Hux’s shoulders. “I have _seen_ it,” Kylo whispers.

Hux’s mouth turns downward, but his gaze remains steady.

“You had a vision.”.

“ _Yes_.”

Hux assesses Kylo for a moment, then he says slowly, “Snoke is bluffing. He does not have the numbers.”

”But what if—”

“ _He is bluffing_. It is basic war strategy, Ren.”

”You don’t know—”

“Quiet now!” Hux snaps. Then, “Sit down.”

Hux maneuvers him to the chair opposite of the one Hux had sat in just a moment ago. Kylo sinks onto it, heart still racing, fingers trembling from both excitement and exhaustion.

“Are you sure—”

“I said, quiet.”

Kylo swallows, allows himself to close his eyes. Inhale. Exhale.

Suddenly, touch. Kylo opens his eyes. Hux stands over him, his hand on Kylo’s cheek. Kylo’s heart skips a beat. Hux’s gaze is cool.

“You cannot walk around like this,” Hux says, fingers tracing Kylo’s bruises.

Kylo doesn’t answer. Hux purses his lips. Then he turns and walks into the refresher. He comes back a moment later, medkit in hand. He places it on the table, extracting a small jar of bacta cream. He opens it, retrieves some of the cream with a cotton bud. Carefully, he dabs it onto Kylo’s cheekbone, his jaw and his split lip. Its sweet scent fills the air, sickening.

“Irresponsible,” Hux says. And a beat later, “Undress.”

Kylo looks up at him, heart pounding in his chest. He braces himself on the armrests of the chair and heaves himself up. He peels off his robe, shivering from the cold air of Hux’s room. Hux takes a step back, gaze mapping the gashes and bruises on Kylo’s body. Kylo stares back at him, and the image of Hux skinned slowly fades from his thoughts. Hux is here. And now, Hux takes more of the bacta cream with the other side of the cotton pad. He starts with the bruises on Kylo’s shoulder, takes a new pad, then his ribs, he turns Kylo around, tends to his back, and then gestures for Kylo to sit. Kylo does. Hux sinks to his knees, face bare of emotion but for the shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, the tight line of his mouth. He takes another cotton pad and dabs the bacta cream onto the bruises on Kylo’s legs. Kylo looks at Hux and his lips part. Kylo says nothing, but a shiver runs down his spine. He feels so heavy, and so light, too.

“Up,” Hux commands.

Kylo stands. Hux’s face remains pale, but the green of his eyes is bright. They look at each other. Hux’s pupils wide. Kylo wants to reach out. He doesn’t. His chest feels tight, he can’t breathe.

A muscle twitches in Hux’s jaw. Hux averts his gaze.

“Rest,” Hux says. He turns back to his desk.

For a heartbeat Kylo does not move. Then he slowly walks into Hux’s bedroom. He sinks into the bed. He draws the cover up. He’s asleep the next second.

There’s only darkness, and Hux’s perfume on the pillow.

Then warmth, flesh, and a heartbeat next to his own. Kylo turns towards it. Deep breaths. A soft mouth grazing Kylo’s cheekbone. Not enough space. Familiar. Kylo moves his arm over Hux’s chest. Hux does not stir.

 

An alarm clock rings.

Kylo grabs for it. He succeeds after the third slap.

Next to him, Hux shifts. He’s in Hux’s bed. Slowly, the previous evening comes rushing back to Kylo. Kylo rubs the knuckle of his index finger over his eyes, then his fingertips. Hux gets up and turns on the lights. A groan escapes Kylo’s lips, he presses his face into the pillow. He feels dizzy. A quick glance to the alarm clock tells him it is 0530. He can’t have slept long. The sounds of a drawer being opened, shifting, clothes being pulled out. Kylo takes a deep breath and turns onto his back. Hux is hanging a fresh shirt over the back of a chair, then he leaves the room. A moment later Kylo can hear the whirr of the sonic shower.  Then the tab running, quiet, and again the tab running.

When Hux steps back into the room, his hair is combed back and his breath smells fresh, when he bends over and culls his comm from the bedside table. He’s still naked. He dresses. Kylo watches. Tension twists in Hux’s shoulders. He does not look at Kylo.

“You best leave,” Hux says.

Kylo peels himself out of the sheets.  His robe is crumpled and sweat sticks it to his skin. He stands. Hux is fastening the belt over his uniform blazer, then he pulls on his gloves.

“Hux,” Kylo says.

Hux tenses.

“War council meets at 0800. You should prepare. If there is any data on Snoke you have not yet supplied us with, we must have it then.”

Kylo takes a deep breath.

“Can I use your shower?” he grits out.

“Yes,” Hux says while turning to the door, eyes cast down to the comm in his hand.

Kylo bites his lip and walks into the refresher. He tears off his clothes and steps into the sonic shower. Afterwards, he splashes cold water onto his face. He shivers.

Outside, he puts his robe back on.

Hux is at his desk, data pad in front of him. As Kylo enters, Hux glances up. Their gazes meet. Hux swallows. His fingers twitch on the table. He curls them into fists, takes a deep breath and relaxes them. He gets up.

Kylo’s heart beats hard. Slowly, Kylo walks over. Step by step until he stands in front of Hux. Before Kylo can stop himself, he reaches out. Hux’s breath hitches as Kylo’s fingers graze his cheek. Hux’s lips part, Kylo inhales.

“War council is at 0800,” Hux repeats.

“Yes,” Kylo says.

For a second longer, they stare at each other. Then Kylo drops his hand and leaves.

 

Kylo returns to his own quarters. He spends the morning in meditation.

He tries to cleanse his mind of the night’s vision. Its taste lingers yet at the back of his tongue. Fragments and filaments of it, Snoke’s claw marks upon it, so blatant now Kylo does not know how he could have missed it. It feeds his anger, and disturbs what he has left of ease.

The hours pass quickly. Then it is time to attend the council.

Kylo finds his way back to sector 6. The situation room is already filled when he enters. For a moment, the voices quiet down, heads turn towards Kylo. Behind his mask, his lips twitch.

Among the attendants are Lieutenant General Garth next to Captain Phasma, as well as Colonel Sahia and those responsible for counterintelligence, and other high ranking officers, most of which Kylo has dealt with before and knows by name. Vader is not present. At the high end of the table Hux stands. Behind him a map of Rakata Prime is projected into the air.

“Lord Ren,” Hux acknowledges him.

Kylo nods. “General.”

“Well then,” Hux says, “let us begin.” He points at the map behind him and briefly summarises what they all have studied already. The location of the Temple of the Ancients, vantage and docking points. Then he leaves the word to a woman of counterintelligence. She introduces herself as Agent Kh’Rie. Her blond hair frames a broad face with bright blue eyes and a wide mouth. Kylo knows her as one who has lead many an operation for the First Order over the span of fifteen years. First under Lieutenant General Garth, then Hux.

“The terrain has strong winds,” she starts, pointing at the plains surrounding the temple. “Barren trees, dried weeds. Easy to attack from the air, hard to defend from the ground. My proposition: an early morning attack, 3am. We go in, check the winds, set fire to the trees and let the blaze veil our vanguard.”

Hux looks at Lieutenant General Garth. The older woman nods carefully and says:

“Additionally, an attack from two sides is preferable. The element of surprise will only last so long. We have to hit hard, and from more than one direction.”

“What do we know of the soldiers on ground?” Hux asks.

Colonel Sahia leans forward, black hair glinting, face august and pale. He says, “I have compiled a list of names known to us. Most are of the First Order, general. No local residents of Rakata Prime are noted in our records.”

“Very good,” Hux says. “We shall offer amnesty to all willing to rejoin our ranks. These are _our_ soldiers. Not Snoke’s.” Then Hux turns his gaze to Kylo. “Lord Ren, what more can you tell us of the planet?”

Kylo returns the look, and answers calmly. “The Force...is mighty on Rakata Prime, twined into the soil. It will obey those strong in the Force. Snoke will try to use it against me and Lord Vader, but he will _fail_.” The last word he grits out, noise distorted by the vocoder of his mask.

Uneasy glances in the room.

“And the beasts?” Captain Phasma asks. Sahia throws her a condescending look.

“Rancors.” Kylo answers. “Savage descendants of those first brought to Rakata Prime by the Infinite Empire.” There’s no telling what time and the Force have twisted them into. Yet, all of it is in the reports and not news to anyone present.

Hux nods to his officers, “Make sure our troops are prepared to deal with these animals.”

A _Yes, sir_ echoes in the room.

Hux continues. “All information revolves on a strict need-to-know basis. Nothing beyond what each soldier requires.” This is protocol of course, yet all the more necessary when dealing with an adversary who can tear from his captives whatever information he wants. Then Hux turns once more to Agent Kh’Rie, gaze sharp.

“I expect an estimation of Snoke’s army by the end of the hour. Gather and process your intelligence, agent, and transfer the information to all necessary units. Our attack must be confident and quick. We cannot afford a long battle and its costs.”

“Yes, sir.”

The council continues for another two hours. Strategies are proposed and discussed, orders given and information distributed. Different sections of the military apparatus have their say under Hux’s strict guidance, until at last their battle plans are concluded.

All the while, one question hangs unanswered in the air.

_Where is Lord Vader?_

Yet, no-one dares to ask it.

Kylo does not linger until the last, minute orders are given. Under Hux’s heavy gaze, Kylo exits the room.

He feels dizzy, voices splicing their strands in his head, until there is only noise and the memory of Hux, quiet in the dawn-less morning. And Vader, helpless beneath Kylo’s touch.

Kylo bites his lips. The taste of blood. Iron.

He reaches out in the Force until he finds Vader’s presence. Aphotic, tumultuous.

It draws Kylo in as it always has: full of hunger.

 

Kylo finds Vader on the assault launch platform. Only a couple of stormtroopers are in close vicinity. They keep their distance from Vader.  All around him, the Force trembles.

Kylo approaches. Vader does not turn, though he must feel him nearing.

“You missed the war council,” Kylo states as he reaches Vader.

“I know all I need to know,” Vader says, voice cold yet unsteady. Now, he turns.

Kylo’s breath quickens. “Grandfather,” he whispers.

The next second, Vader marches him against the viewport. Such violence in his stride. The Force shatters against Kylo, thieving him of air and thought. Blood in his mouth.

“I told you, to never again—”

Kylo laughs. He claws his fingers into Vader’s arms, sucks the blood from his teeth.

Vader lets go of him as if burned, takes a step back.

Kylo pushes himself from the viewport, into Vader’s space.

For a moment, there is silence between them. Their gazes like fever.

Then Kylo says, “There is work to be done.”

 

They walk quietly. Kylo leads the way to the sparring room where his knights and Raga wait for him. Vader’s presence at his back. The Force taut around Vader, shivering with dark intent.

Every step electric. Until at last they reach the sparring room.

Kylo enters first. Vader follows.

Inside, Raga and Rho are fighting against Issar. Issar dodges a blow from Raga, goes to attack Rho, stops in her tracks. They all turn, movement almost synchronic.

A flicker of emotion passes over their faces, too quick to capture. In the Force, they keep careful indifference as they look upon Vader.

Kylo bolts his spine straight. He remembers well, Issar’s rage after Kylo had faced Luke the first time. She’d said, Vader would have left him to die.

No sign of that rage now. Though she stands relaxed, each muscle strains.

Vader steps forth from behind Kylo.

“Lord Vader,” the knights say in greeting. Raga joins in a beat later.

“Well now,” Vader says, voice smooth, but vicious. He circles around the three. Issar and Rho keep their focus forward, unwavering. Spread of pride in Kylo’s chest. Raga in turn presses her lips together, eyelids lowered.

“Look at me,” Kylo barks.

Her gaze snaps up. Dark eyes fervid.

Vader is at their back now. He unholsters his lightsaber.

It ignites.

Its buzz and crackle echoes in the room.

“Be ready,” Vader says, and looks at Kylo.

Then Vader throws himself towards the three.

Rho and Issar jump to the right, Raga to the left. The next second, Kylo has his own lightsaber ignited.

Vader hits. Kylo dodges the blow, but is ground back two steps. He bares his teeth and pushes back.

As he does, Issar joins his flank, while Raga and Rho attack Vader from behind. They all have their weapons now. Vader slams Kylo back, crashing him against Issar. Then Vader swirls around, and as a storm approaching, slashes at Rho and Raga. Kylo can’t see for Vader’s billowing cape, only feels the ache of his muscles, and the excitement rushing through his veins. He grips his lightsaber harder, and with the other hand pulls off his mask. It hits the ground. He stares at Issar, she smirks, baring her teeth. Then they attack.

There’s only his heartbeat, loud. The rush, movement trained for a decade, beaten into instinct. Issar  as his mirror image. Vader parries their blows with each of his own, one hand extended towards Rho and Raga. They are both on their knees, choking. Vader lifts his hand, tearing Rho and Raga from the ground. He smashes them towards Kylo. Raga catches her fall, and with the momentum, turns. Her eyes ablaze. And Kylo knows, she feels it, the fires of war. They look at each other. Kylo twirls his saber, and together they propel forward. Rho joins them the moment Vader hurls Issar against the wall. The sizzle of the lightsabers clashing, and then _blood_ —

It splashes against Kylo’s cheek.

They all freeze.

Raga’s Twenchok foil bloody.

A gash in Vader’s arm.

Silence.

Then the Force gathers, monstrous twines of it. Raga stumbles backward. Her eyes widen. She reaches up to her neck, mouth agape, gagging. She falls to her knees. Terror washes over her in the Force.

“Enough,” Kylo says.

Vader tightens his grip.

“Enough!” Kylo screams.

Raga chokes, veins red in her eyes. Kylo storms forward, but before he reaches Vader, Vader lets go.

Raga bends, retching. She trembles, she gets back up.

“You are not yet ready,” Vader says.

He leaves.

Kylo stares after him.

Vader’s blood is hot on Kylo’s skin. It dribbles down his cheek, to the corner of his mouth.

He licks it.

 

In the evening, Kylo returns to his quarters.

Exhaustion has drained him of thought. He showers, eats, and falls into bed.

No dreams.

 

Kylo wakes from a knock on his door. He tears himself from sleep. For a moment, the world tilts. He grabs for the bedpost to steady himself.

Another knock.

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and staggers barefoot to the door. He realises he’s wearing only his sleeping trousers the moment he presses the button to open the doors.

Hux.

Kylo’s heart skips a beat. He steps aside. Hux purses his lips and enters. The doors close behind him. Hux stares at the fresh bruises on Kylo’s skin.

“Kylo—”

Kylo gapes at him. Adrenaline shocks him wide awake.

For a brief moment there is horror on Hux’s face. Then Hux steps further into the room, past Kylo, clasping his hands behind his back, knuckles turning white.

“You are aware that we reach Rakata Prime tonight?” Hux says, voice emotionless but for a slight wavering.

“Yes,” Kylo rasps.

“Must I remind you that you should rest?”

Hux faces him, his features calm.

Kylo wants to feel for his heartbeat. He advances.

“Stop,” Hux says.

Kylo stills. “Why?”

Hux doesn’t answer.

“I distract you.”

Kylo steps closer. Hux doesn’t move.

“Because you _want_ me.”

He feels for Hux’s neck, finds his pulse. Hammering.

Hux grabs his wrist and clenches his jaw, lips twitching. He does not deny it.

The next moment, they are kissing. Hux pushes against him until Kylo’s back hits the wall. Before he knows it, he fingers for the clasp of Hux’s belt.

“No,” Hux hisses.

Kylo lets go.

“Hands behind your back.”

Kylo obeys. Hux tears down Kylo’s trousers and grips his half-hard cock. Kylo whimpers. Hux moves in, his breath hot against Kylo’s lips. It takes only two strokes for Kylo to harden completely. A shiver runs down his spine. He bites his mouth.

“Eyes on me,” Hux says, voice quiet but sharp.

Kylo looks at him, into the expanding black of his pupil. The leather of Hux’s glove creaks as he drags it over Kylo’s dick. Heat surges through Kylo. Hux’s other hand moves up to Kylo’s lips, index and middle finger pushing inside. Kylo opens his lips and sucks. Against his thigh, Hux’s erection. He wants to sink to his knees, wants to suck Hux’s cock—

“I said _eyes on me_ ,” Hux hisses and pushes his gloved fingers deeper into Kylo’s mouth. Kylo chokes on them. Swiftly, Hux retrieves them, spit-slick. Then he curls them around Kylo’s throat. And squeezes.

Kylo feels a bead of precome slip over the tip of his dick. It smears against Hux’s palm. He moans, air tight, his dick hard in Hux’s grip.

“Please,” he whimpers.

Hux works him fast, efficient, ruthless. Kylo wants to touch, wants to feel Hux’s skin.

“No,” Hux says, wrist twisting just _right_.

Kylo comes, vision going black.

When the world comes into focus once more, Hux is close, cheeks flushed, a strand of hair fallen over his forehead. They breathe heavily. Kylo leans forward. Hux kisses him. His tongue pushes into Kylo’s mouth. Just for a second. Then he moves back, offers his come coated hand to Kylo. Without thought Kylo licks the glove clean.

“Let me,” Kylo mumbles, unfolds his hands and drags them over the bulge between Hux’s thighs.

“No,” Hux says a third time.

This time, Kylo does not care. He sinks to his knees and with trembling fingers opens Hux’s belt and frees his cock. Above him, Hux sucks in a sharp breath. Kylo looks up. Feels a spark of arousal in his chest. And swallows Hux down in one go.

Hux seizes Kylo’s hair in his fist, pulls him off his cock until only the tip of it remains in Kylo’s mouth. Kylo sucks on it, and sinks into Hux’s mind. Sees himself, his lips spread tight over the girth of Hux’s cock. The slow drag of Hux’s shaft out of his mouth, then back in, out, in, deeper. Hux’s thighs quaver. With a wet sound, Kylo lets Hux slip out. Kylo murmurs,

“On my face. Please.”

Shame knots inside him, but the way Hux’s eyes darken unravels it. Kylo opens his mouth. Watches how Hux takes himself in hand, jerks once, twice—

Hot spurts of white rope over Kylo’s chin and mouth. Hux pushes his yet pulsing cock between Kylo’s lips, thrusts, rides out his orgasm. Kylo lets himself be used until Hux pulls out, smearing come over Kylo’s lips.

Heavy breathing echoes in the silence of the room.

Hux tugs himself back into his trousers. His nostrils flare. His eyes catch Kylo’s.

Slowly, Kylo rises. He gathers Hux’s come from his chin and licks it off while Hux watches.

“Clean yourself up,” Hux says, voice roughened. He clears his throat. “Dress your wounds. Rest.”

Kylo just nods.

“I will give a speech tonight. Location and time has been announced. Check your comm.”

“Yes,” Kylo says.

Hux pushes his hair back into place.

“I shall see you tonight. Make sure Lord Vader attends, as well,” Hux says and steps past him, striding to the door.

“Hux,” Kylo says.

Hux stills. They look at each other.

Hux leaves.

Kylo’s pulse hammers loud in his ears, he feels it in his chest, and for a moment, he can neither breathe nor think. The Force knots inside him, all that is, both life and its ends, strung along the universe, ever in motion. Slowly, he drags his hands through his hair. He’s shivering, half naked, but he is not cold. He walks into the refresher, slips out of his trousers and lets the water rush down on him. Steam gathers on the tiles. Carefully, Kylo glides his fingertips over the scar on his face, feels the uneven rim of skin. It doesn’t feel like shame anymore.

 

Not long after he’s out of the shower, another knock on the door. It’s Issar, bearing two trays filled with food and coffee, thick slices of ham, eggs, two apples, and bread and chickpea paste.

He lets her in. She places the tray on the floor. Kylo walks to his bedroom, throws two pillows towards her and then fills a carafe with water. They sit down in silence.

Kylo pours her a glass. She takes it. They eat.

Afterwards, Issar stands, back turned.

“What is it?” Kylo says.

She tenses.

“Speak.”

She paces towards the viewpoint.

“Lord Vader,” she says. Then turns. The grey in her eyes clouded.

Kylo’s lips twitch. He gets up, as well.

“Yesterday—”

Kylo holds up a hand, quieting her.

“I will go to him,” he offers.

They both know that never before has Vader treated one of his knights like this. Issar nods and says no more. Yet, worry weighs down her brows, gathering shadows beneath her lashes. A sigh falls from her lips. She looks out of the viewpoint.

They are so close to Rakata Prime.

“Tonight,” she says.

“Tonight.”

He places his hand on her shoulder, and looks out of the viewport, too.

Only darkness and their own reflections meet their gazes.

 

Together, they go to the sparring room. Issar sends a message to Rho and Raga to meet them there. After last day’s training, they do no more than practise steps without their weapons. Thereon, they sink down on the floor for meditation.

Anticipation shivers electric in the Force. By the 23rd hour, they enter the Lehon system. Its sun Abo blazes like a flaming diamond set into the dark of night. From the viewports they can see the three first planets aligned in an arch around the sun. Kylo recites their names in his head: Iwar, Meldina, Taxiode. All dead rock, voiceless giants of stone.

And just out of view: Rakata Prime.

They can all feel it. How strong the dark side of the Force is here. Stronger than on Moraband. Like ropes of lightning, searing, monstrous.

Soon, the hour will strike.

Kylo rises from the floor. None of them speak. It is in the air now, in their lungs. The sway of destiny approaching. Kylo nods at the three of them, holding their gazes. They stay in the sparring room.

Kylo leaves. He walks as in slumber, steps heavy and slouching. Stormtroopers and officers make way. Some dark thing twitches inside him, ravenous. He feels it crawling out of him with every breath, feels it slip and melt into his shadow, the shadows of the room, until it is all around him.

Some soupçon of vision.

And like waking, he suddenly knows where he is going.

Medbay. Private sector. Farthest room.

Kylo passes by medical droids, dismisses the guards, and opens the locked doors with a swipe of hand and Force.

Inside, darkness. Illuminated by vaporous lights, rising around a bacta tank.

Vader’s.

The whirr of machinery. The sweet scent of bacta.

And within the viscous fluids: Vader.

Kylo approaches. Vader’s eyes are closed. Lids heavy, wan skin. This broken body of his. With bones of steel, and four artificial limbs. Kylo circles him and as he does traces with his fingertips along the glass of the tank. The gash in Vader’s arm has been healed, only bright pink skin where the wound had been. He’s behind Vader now. At the top of his skull and spine, the cold glint of neural needles, where his body connects with his cybernatic armour. Without the armour connected to the needles, he cannot move his limbs. Cannot move them now.

Kylo goes back to the front. Stares at Vader’s face.

He leans in and breathes against the glass. His lips smear the mist of his aspiration.

Vader’s eyes open.

Kylo does not falter. A softness inside Kylo, that wants to crush. They look at each other. Faded blues. The potency of Vader’s hatred is almost tangible. It deepens the softness in Kylo, varnishes over his innards, the lump of muscle and flesh pounding beneath his ribs. He takes off his right glove. Presses his hand against the glass, leaving his fingerprints smudged on the surface.

Vader closes his eyes.

For a moment longer, Kylo remains.

Then Kylo leaves, world silenced by the hammering of his heart.

 

Hux’s speech is scheduled for midnight.

Thirty minutes from now. Kylo returns to his quarters, eats some of the morning’s leftovers, and then gathers his knights and Raga. Issar is quiet, keeping Rho at her side. Tension between them, strung tight. Rho’s shoulders are set, spine straight, the suggestion of a smile on their features. Kylo needs not reach into the Force to know they is thinking of Bysshe. Of bloodshed. And death. It’s a dangerous thing, and Kylo will have to rely on Issar to keep Rho out of harm’s way. Raga in turn keeps fidgeting with her sleeves, her belt, and as she notices, clenches her fists white-knuckled and still by her sides. The war has already commenced inside her. A hot spur of anger shoots through Kylo, but it quells quickly. They all put on their masks.

“Mark this day,” Kylo says, voice crackling through the vocoder. “Snoke shall fall. We shall rise.”

“Yes, master,” the three say.

And when they move, they move as one.

 

They arrive behind the stage fifteen minutes to midnight. The rows of officers and stormtroopers part before them. Fear and reverence. To most soldiers, the knights of Ren are yet a strange organism. Some thing of sorcery, of cult. They don’t understand. Kylo knows this. They are respected and obeyed. But not trusted. This, too, will change.

From a throng of black-coated and heavily armed soldiers of his protection squadron, Hux steps forward. His cheeks are flushed, his brows knit. He gives a number of clipped commands to an officer next to him and then strides towards Kylo.

“Lord Ren,” he says, gaze slanting along the knights and Raga behind Kylo.

“General.”

Hux nods towards the side. Kylo signals his knights to stay behind with a dip of his fingers, then follows Hux out of earshot.

“Where is Lord Vader?” Hux asks.

“I saw him last in the medbay.”

“He’s not there. He’s not answering his comm. The attack will commence in 3 hours.”

Kylo says nothing.

“Have you spoken with him?”

“No.”

Something in Hux’s stance changes. Calms. He looks at Kylo with cold fury. A shiver runs down Kylo’s spine. Hux steps closer. His words are but a hiss,

“Stay for the speech. Afterwards: _Find him_.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Hux takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring.

For a moment Hux lingers. A pull between them, agog.

Kylo steps away. He returns to his knights and Raga, feeling Hux’s stare on his back.

The remaining minutes fly by.

Hux ascends the stage, flanked by two of his protection squadron. Kylo and his knights follow. They stand to his left, next to high ranking officers, among them Lieutenant General Garth.

A roar goes through the masses, cameras zoom in on Hux. He raises his hand. Silence falls.

Hux addresses the rows, voice booming through the speakers.

“Tonight, we make history,” Hux says. “We have finally arrived. The war is not over yet, but it will be. And soon. And it is by your sacrifice, your strength and your courage that _peace_ will prevail.

“Tonight, we must be conscious of the magnitude of the duty that is ours. Lives rely upon us. The galaxy relies on us. We shall not disappoint.”

A shout goes through the rows.

“Tonight, we _fight_.”

The shout rises in clamour. Kylo shivers, the energy in the room is electric, all-consuming. And Hux, Hux is like lightning. Only vaguely does Kylo registers movement behind him. He glances back and sees Raga leaving. He does not care.

“For peace, for glory, for a new _empire_! The slavery of Snoke is over. This is _our_ time, this is our galaxy!”

The noise of the shout rings in Kylo’s ears. Frenzy bolts through the mass of bodies.

“Our allies are many and mighty,” Hux says, pointing towards Kylo. Adrenaline rushes through Kylo.

“And you, my fellow soldiers, you are the best trained, the most courageous, and the deadliest of forces!

“Tonight we fight and conquer. And Tomorrow, we celebrate _victory_!”

The applause that follows is ear-numbing. Hux stands before them, drinks them in, and Kylo watches, and for a moment, all doubt washes off him, for a moment, there is only clarity.

Hux turns around and under roared hail leaves the stage. As he passes Kylo by, their eyes meet. A rush of fever. Without thought, Kylo follows him, as the others follow.

Behind the stage, more applause, then Hux brings order to the chaos with half-shouted commands over the noise of the crowd outside. He beckons Kylo over. The next second a door closes behind Kylo, cutting off the noise. The silence is almost as loud. Hux stares at him, pupils wide. Kylo takes of his helmet, lets it drop to the floor, and pulls Hux close by the lapels of his coat. They’re both hard. Hux crushes his mouth against Kylo’s.

“We don’t have time—”

Hux pushes him back, manhandling him to turn around. Then he tears down Kylo’s trousers and bends him over. The rustling of clothes. Then Kylo hears Hux spit into his hand.

Two fingers breach him, work him quick, not nearly enough. He doesn’t care.

“Hurry,” Kylo chokes.

Then Hux fucks into him, way eased only by spit. Kylo grunts. Pain shoots through him. It only makes him harder. Hux pulls out, almost completely, then thrusts back in, right against the spot that makes Kylo see stars. Kylo moans, hands against the wall, trying to get a grip, failing. The next thrust pushes him harder against the wall. Fingers curl in Kylo’s hair, pull his head back the same moment that Hux wraps his hand around Kylo’s dick. They kiss. Kylo comes first. Hux follows a moment later.

Hard breathing. Kylo’s trembling, sweat drying on his brow. Hux’s come leaks out of him. He’s unoriented, mind blank. Hux opens a drawer next to them and passes Kylo a tissue. Kylo takes it, wipes Hux’s and his own come off. He fastens his trousers while Hux straightens his uniform. Only a couple of minutes have passed.

Hux makes to speak—

 

Something disturbs the Force.

 

Kylo’s eyes widen. He feels all blood drain from his face.

Something fiendish unveils itself.

“What is—” Hux says.

Kylo’s already moving. The clash of powers riving through the Force. Before he knows it, he grips the hilt of his lightsaber. Ignites it while storming outside. Hux shouts after him.

Corridors pass Kylo by, stormtroopers jump out of the way.

Almost there. Almost—

Kylo turns a corner. The opened doors of an unused storage hall.

And inside is he.

Vader. His own lightsaber cutting through the dark of the hall.

Blood on the floor. Dripping from Vader’s arm.

The glint of red on steel. Four cloven spikes of it.

Kylo stares up. The shadow behind the weapon moves towards the light of Vader’s saber.

Raga steps into the glow. She twirls her bloody foil. She grins.

And then it hits Kylo. The other apprentice.

It’s her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> & come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com).


	5. Proskynesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I am so sorry for the long wait! Dumb uni stuff got in the way. I hope you still might care for this story. ;-;  
> Thanks goes as always to my [beloved](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas), whom has been with me from the start and betas this. I love you.

The other apprentice. It’s her.

Raga stands before him and Vader. She sneers.

“You,” Kylo rasps. Ice shivers through his veins, he doesn’t move, just stares. He feels like choking. His dream comes back to him, the shape of teeming shadows. It’s her. He feels her power, unfettered now, rising, all around them. It all falls into place, the way she’d looked at him when they’d trained,  concealed wrath, forced submission—and the only memories she’d offered from her childhood. He should have seen it. After Quia and Zall, he should have _seen_ it. His hands shake, his lightsaber trembles. He fights back the part of him that had trusted Snoke, had laid his fate into Snoke’s hands. Nausea twists his gut, reaves him of air. And then it comes over him. He storms forward. Vader moves aside. Raga’s smile sharpens, gleam in her eye when she bares her teeth. She wields her Twenchok foil and propels toward him. Their weapons meet with a screech that does not come from material, but from the Force colliding. Sparks fly, the hiss of his saber, red glow of it cast onto Raga’s face, reflecting in her eyes. Then she ducks, sidesteps and attacks again. He swirls around and dodges.

“What did you think would happen after this? You think Snoke won’t sacrifice you, too?” Kylo snarls. “He already _has_.”

“Shut up,” she hisses.

Adrenaline sharpens all, tilts all focus toward her. He moves without thought, muscles working on their own. It’s only them and the Force, black billows of it, blasting against each other. She twines the Force around her free hand and crashes him into the nearest wall. Blood in his mouth. He swallows and surges at her. She’s quick, but not quick enough. He throws her down, striking with all his might. She blocks with her foil, one of its cloven spikes breaks off, clatters to the floor next to her. His eyes are wide, he drives all his weight against her. She grits her teeth, muscles straining in her arm. His saber shifts closer. Rush of blood in his ears. The kill is close, he can feel it. They stare at each other.

Some beastly thing inside her, some thing he _recognises_. What they are, both of them—

For a second he slackens. It’s not mercy that still his hand. Raga’s mouth opens as if to speak. She grabs beside her and rams the broken-off clove into his side. Pain cleaves through him. She yanks it out. Blood jets from the wound. Then she has him on his back, thrusts the lightsaber from his grasp and out of reach. He sees Vader from the corner of his eye, unmoving. Raga leans in. The barbs of her foil puncture the skin of his throat, drawing beads of blood, amassing, but not yet spilling. Her breath ghosts over his face. Sound and pain drain away. Suddenly, he feels calm. He doesn’t struggle, just looks at her, mouth a tight line, brows pinched low. He sees his gaze reflected in hers, feverish, and he feels the heaving of her chest against him.

And they _know_ each other.

The Force bends around her, moving in—

She draws back.

Blood trickles down his throat. Sound returns. The sting that shoots through him blackens all. Raga stands, then offers her hand. He takes it and she hauls him up. He presses a hand over his side, staggering. They look at each other and something passes between them. Of claiming destiny. Not Snoke’s. Their own.

She glances at his wound, then tears a rag of cloth from her robe and wraps it tight around his middle. He grits his teeth but lets her. With a flick of his hand, he pulls in the hilt of his lightsaber and fastens it to his belt. Vader turns around and strides away. Raga looks at Kylo.

“He knows you are coming,” Raga says.

Kylo takes out his comm and messages Hux to stop the attack. No reply.

“Quickly,” he grits out. He sends Issar and Rho a message to stop Hux from commencing the attack.

“Yes,” she says.

They run.

 

Raga has no clearance for the situation room so the guards try to stop her. Kylo dashes them aside with the Force and tears the door open. All heads turn.

“What on earth—” Hux snaps before his gaze sinks to Kylo’s side.

“We must speak alone,” Kylo says.

“Lord Ren, we are in the middle of—”

“ _Now_ ,” Kylo barks.

Stunned silence. Then,

“Clear out.”

“But general—”

The doors open again. Issar and Rho enter, clack of heavy boots, twin shadows. Their appearance spurs the officers into movement.

“Wait outside,” Kylo orders.

The officers throw uncertain glances at Hux.

“Do as he says,” Hux hisses.

Mumbling, chairs being pushed back, hurried steps. Then they are alone.

“What is this about?” Hux’s voice rings cold and clear.

“Snoke knows we are coming,” Raga says.

Hux’s gaze snaps to her, mouth turning down. “Where did you acquire this information?”

“She’s his other apprentice,” Kylo says.

Hux just stares.

“ _What?_ ” Issar hisses, pushing between Kylo and Raga.

“Traitor,” Rho spits and dashes forward.

“She’s with us now,” Kylo says, holding Rho back and throwing Issar a warning glance.

Hux looks  at him, then Raga, eyes narrowing. Kylo can see the flutter of Hux’s pulse, and when he sinks into his mind, the sparks of panic, and something else, a nameless, primal thing as Hux had spotted Kylo’s injury. Kylo withdraws, heart pounding.

“Alright,” Hux says, “Alright.” He clutches his hands behind his back as he turns and paces. “How much information have you forwarded to Snoke?”

“Little enough. He only knows you are coming now. There was no way to convey more without drawing attention,” Raga says. Indeed, Kylo thinks, it’s incredible she’d been able to communicate this much at all. Either Issar or Rho have surveilled Raga ever since she’d set foot on the _Finalizer_.

“That is all?”

“Yes.”

“Ren, does she tell the truth?” Hux asks.

“She does.”

Hux’s lips twitch. “Alright,” he says the third time. “This is what we are going to do.”

Rho and Issar stand tense beside Kylo, their gazes on Hux.

Hux clears his throat and says, “The attack will commence as planned.”

“But—”

“Quiet, Ren. The enemy must not be aware of our knowledge.” He turns to Raga. “Can you communicate with Snoke now?”

She bites her lip, dark eyes narrowed. “I can, but why?”

Hux regards her coldly. “We shall send him wrong information. Let him believe Lord Ren and Lord Vader are immobilised. Clearly Snoke wishes to avoid them coming on planet, which is why he put you at the higher risk and planted you on the _Finalizer_. If he lets his guard down, we may strike him all the harder.”  He turns to Kylo. “How badly are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” Kylo grits.

Hux frowns. “Go to the medbay, I shall keep you informed on any further developments. We need you ready to fight.”

Kylo nods.

“Come on,” Issar says quietly. She opens the door and they leave. Rho and Raga stay behind. Kylo looks over his shoulder at Hux, his pale but composed face. Issar parts the throng in front of the room. The officers fall silent as they pass them by.

The way to the medbay seems longer than Kylo can remember. His side throbs, spikes of pain with every step. A wet spot is spreading on the cloth Raga used. The scent of his blood hangs in the air. Issar is tense next to him, but she doesn’t say a word. Kylo is thankful for it. They arrive and are immediately led to the private sector, medical droids whirring around them. Kylo sits down on one of the beds. His head feels light.

“I’m gonna get someone,” Issar says and dashes out the door.

Heavy steps a few moments later. Issar enters, followed by a tall bulk of a man. His nose and mouth are hid behind a surgical mask, but his eyes gleam a bright green within red sclera. Kylo recognises him as one of the doctors attending Vader. He’s the only one that has been around for a while. Most others fall prey to Vader’s wrath.

“I’m Doctor Zhu. What happened to him?”

“Stabbed,” Kylo says, grimacing.

“Hm.”

Dr Zhu steps closer, gesturing behind himself for one of the nurses. A silver haired man steps forward. “Fēi, cut the robes, clean the wound.”

Kylo leans back and lets them. His thoughts swim, merge into each other. He barely registers the pain when the nurse cleans his wound.

Dr Zhu puts on a stethoscope and checks his breathing. Then he takes Kylo’s pulse with two fingers to his wrist. It feels like it’s happening to someone else.

“Give him a sedative,” he hears the doctor say.

“No,” Kylo presses.

“The medical droids won’t be able to stitch you up with this wound,” Dr Zhu says, “I will have to do it by hand.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

The doctor only grunts as response. Issar stands behind him, grey eyes tempestuous. Kylo can feel her anger in the Force. Good, he thinks. They will need all their wrath when they fight Snoke.

The doctor washes his hands in the sink nearby, slips on gloves and then prepares needle and thread. It reminds Kylo of how it used to be Daion who stitched them all up. He glances at Issar. She must think the same.

“Does it hurt?” The nurse asks, smiling. He bends over Kylo from the other side, a single lock of silver hair falls into his pale face. He looks slick, unblemished and has the air of someone unafraid of death. Kylo wants to show him just how wrong he is.

“Shut up, Fēi,” the doctor says. The man draws back. “The restraints,” he adds.

Fēi fastens one strap over Kylo’s chest, another over his thighs, keeping him in place.

“Don’t move,” Dr Zhu says. “Don’t lose consciousness.”

Kylo huffs out a harsh breath. Dr Zhu pierces his skin with the needle and pain jags through Kylo. He clenches his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the bed.

“You’re lucky no organs were punctured,” Dr Zhu says, voice perfectly level. Kylo opens his eyes. Zhu ties the first stitch, then uses the next thread. Kylo knows it’s to avoid infection, Daion had told him.

“Make them _good_ ,” Kylo says, strained. “I need to fight.”

“They should hold. But I wouldn’t put my money on it, if you are too reckless.”

Kylo exhales a harsh breath. “They better hold,” he hisses.

Zhu continues, unfazed.

When it’s done, the doctor dabs some bacta on the wound before he lets Fēi dress it.

A new set of robes waits for him. Issar must’ve sent for it. Dr Zhu prepares a syringe while Kylo slips into the new robes.

“I’ll give you a shot that will counter the blood loss and strengthen you enough for a fight. However, I must warn you not to overexert yourself.” The doctor says it like someone who’s said it countless times, just to be ignored. Kylo rolls up his sleeve. Dr Zhu finds his vein with practised ease. He pushes the plunger of the syringe. Warmth spreads through Kylo’s arm, then his whole body. A low moan escapes him, and he feels his head clear. He gets up from the bed, swallows, flexes his muscles.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Kylo checks his comm on the way back to the situation room. A message from Hux: _The attack will commence thirty minutes from now._ That means preparations must already be done and stormtroopers on the move. Sector 6 is bustling with officers and stormtroopers, some heading to the command bridge right above sector 6, others presumably on the way to the TIE fighter launching rack as reinforcements.

They enter the situation room. Once more, all heads turn. Hux and Lieutenant General Garth are at the front, both looking determined. Vader is there, too. His presence like nightfall. Kylo remembers looking at him as Raga had been above him, how he hadn’t moved. Kylo’s heartbeat quickens. Thrill in his veins.

The doors shut behind Kylo and Issar.

“It’s time,” Hux says.

 

**iv.**

 

The noise of the AAL shuttle drowns out everything for a moment. Twenty minutes until they reach Rakata Prime. Kylo, his knights and Raga sit on the racks in the crew compartment. Vader is in a different shuttle, splitting the impact they have in the Force. They’re meditating, drawing the Force inward and thus keeping Snoke from sensing their approach. It requires concentration. No-one speaks. The Force twines between them, binding them together like beads on a string. Thought frays and unravels amidst them, no longer bound to a single entity, the spool of memory in motion—

Fires red on the horizons before Kylo’s closed eyes. Rho’s home planet, cities crumbled, corpses littering the streets like rubbish, bombs falling from the sky, noise of explosions, screams—and there Rho, smiling. Kylo feels it, what Rho had felt then. Joy. Finally, no meaningless prattle, just this, red-raw death spread on the streets. All bindings cut loose, all grey doused in colour, finally, _finally_ — It had pushed Rho right into Kylo’s grasp. Then they’d recruited Bysshe, pale as moon and just as wicked. Quieter by much, and yet, Rho and he had looked at the world with the same eyes and the same hunger. And there is this—the breath of kismet upon them, both the mirror image of the other. Kylo feels Rho’s wonder when they’d looked at Bysshe. Bysshe who’d whispered to Rho of prophecy, of Kylo: _Just like this age, ruptured and riven, half-scorched, half-flames_. _Follow him and we shall see the future._ So Rho had followed him.

Then loss. Unspeakable. A world void of Bysshe and a future that is no future at all.

Kylo turns to Rho. They avert their gaze, trapped in their memories.

“Don’t be eager for death,” Kylo says, voice stripped of emotion by his mask. “I need your strength by my side.”

Rho does not respond, but their wish is thunder between them. Issar grabs their shoulder. Her knee brushes against Kylo’s. He looks at her. She has aged since that first day. Back then she’d had no faith, no home, no name. She’d been a mercenary, guarding a man who had grown to be a thorn in Snoke’s side and whom Kylo had come to eliminate.

 _Life is meaningless_ , she’d said, blaster pointed right between Kylo’s eyes. _Just die._

He’d grit his teeth, taken off his mask.

 _You’re just a child,_ she’d said.

 _I can give it to you,_ Kylo had grit. _Meaning._  

She’d snorted and pulled the trigger. Kylo had deflected the blast, and they’d fought until both had been out of breath and bloodied.

 _Follow me,_ he’d insisted.

She’d looked at him a long while, chest heaving. Then she’d said, _Alright. But I_ will _kill you should you fail to convince me._ They’d fought together henceforward, night and day by each other’s side, and Kylo sees himself how she’d seen him, blood-drenched and wild, reckless as they’d pressed on against their enemies, and she’d felt his will, strong as the tide and blacker than tar. It had sparked something within her. She had remained by his side. Is still by his side. She catches his gaze. She nods once.

Rakata Prime is near. Storm clouds cover its wastes, the dried oceans, the broken mountains. And they all feel it. The dark side of the Force. It calls out to them, voiceless. A pull in the very essence of their flesh. All the blackness between the stars is suddenly awake, is watching, and hauling them closer.

Kylo sees Raga grinning. She sits opposite of him, short hair falling onto her brow. Her eyes are wide. Kylo feels his lips tugging into a grin. Her thoughts are bright within his mind. The images of the planet she’d grown up on, the endless curves of dunes on the horizons. She and her grandparents had been branded exiles by the New Republic, forced to live in this land of sands where dust coated all, and everything had been brittle but for the remnants of Star Destroyers in the farther desert. The whispers of the other villagers had echoed, they’d called her cursed, a fated child. A power had started to grow in her, tremblings of the Force. Kylo knows it. Knows it with all that he is.

“Why did you kill your grandparents?” he asks.

Raga tilts her head. “They were cowards.” Flash of an image: An old man and woman leaving the capital of the Empire at night, dragging a crying child along. No time to wait for her parents, they say.

“And liars,” she adds. And Kylo understands that, too.

“I will not be lied to anymore,” she says.

The darkened half of the planet draws nearer. They enter its atmosphere. Their shuttle veers from the others. They will fight a two-front battle, closing in from the East and the West. Winds will veil their vanguard with the fires they will set. Any exit roots will be cut off. They have already sent teams ahead to infiltrate and sabotage the nearest docking points of Snoke’s TIE fighters, as well as teams to secure outposts from where to direct forces. Kylo, his knights, and Vader are approaching from the North to breach the Temple of the Ancients. To kill Snoke.

The plan is not without risk. They are giving Snoke’s soldiers only the option of surrender and amnesty, or fighting till death. The _Finalizer_ might very well exhaust her already weakened resources should they choose the latter, and should the battle drag on for too long. Kylo has to deal with Snoke quickly to carve out any loyalty harboured for him. Hux is right, these soldiers are his soldiers, not Snoke’s. Snoke is ungraspable, cast in shadow, whereas Hux stands among his soldiers. And yet. Snoke’s power has bent and broken the backs of many.

No matter. They must prevail.

Landing approach.

They’re all tense. Kylo rises first. He pushes open the doors and steps outside. The sky is dark, but the sensors in his mask allow him clear night vision. He jumps off the exit ramp. His feet hit the ground and dust rises. The presence of the Force almost sways him, reaves him of breath. Primal, nameless _power_. His knights and Raga follow him out. Something fierce grips him from within. He stares and trembles.

“This is it,” he rasps. “This is _our_ age.”

He turns to the three behind him. Determination in their strances. Raga steps beside him. They look at each other. He ignites his lightsaber.

A tingling along his spine. Some wild joy takes hold of him. He grins, teeth bared.

And when they move, they move as one.

Many battles were fought on this planet. They feel it in the air, in the soil beneath their feet and the dust of what once was ocean-ground.

Issar glances at her comm. “Vader is ahead of us,” she says.

They move south. Not far are the outcroppings of stone that lead towards the temple. The rock is blacker than the night around them, fused with what malice Snoke poured into it. Old spells, hexes of a forgotten age.

“Seems we’ll get into a bit of trouble on our way in,” Raga says and points to where shapes move in the shadows.

Kylo twirls his lightsaber. “They will not stop us.”

Blasters go off the next second. Flashes of fire turn night to day. His lightsaber sizzles as he blocks the shots and marches on without stopping. Laughter grits against his throat as he slashes left and right. Raga beside him, Issar and Rho ahead. Stench of blood, nameless soldiers falling to the ground. They stand no chance. He mows them down.

“Retreat!” a voice screeches. Panicked stumble, bodies pressing, eyes flashing with fear, and then—Vader appearing before them, cutting off their way. Kylo watches with rapture as Vader slaughters them. They leave no survivors. Blood slicks their boots. The temple is nigh. They climb the stones, but the rock is slippery where it should be dry. It seems to move where it should be still. A stench creeps into Kylo’s nostrils even through his mask, sharp and toxic. They reach the entrance dizzy and unsteady. Even Vader falters in his step. Whispers are in the air. Soft and terrible. His mother’s voice. The song she’d sung for his slumber. Her laughter, her last goodbye. And he, too, Han Solo.

Issar grabs his arm. Kylo looks at her, blinks. Issar’s fingernails dig into his skin. He nods and draws from the Force, cleaves the voices.

“We can’t get in,” Raga says, hands on her knees, eyes unfocused through the mask. “At least not this way.” She gestures to crumbled stones, remnants of a gigantic archway.

“How?” Kylo asks.

“There’s an underground entrance. But it’s dangerous,” Issar says.

“Show us.”

Thundercrack in the distance. Flames redden the horizon. Blaster fire, screams, trample of feet. They don’t have much time. Raga leads them down a narrow staircase hewn into the rock. Serpentines lead through a quarry high enough to shield them from sight. It mures them in. Silence spreads. Cold seeps into Kylo. His steps echo, too loud. The shapes of his knights and Vader blur. Kylo stops. The echo of his steps doesn’t. Breath on his neck. He spins around. No-one there. His heartbeat quickens, his gaze blears, touch of her small hand at his cheek. _Ben,_ she says _._ _Ben._ So gentle. _Come back._

“You still love me,” he murmurs.

Her voice resounds: _Always._

Her eyes dim. She is half of vapour, twine of memory. He chokes on his breath, claws a hand over his mask, he’s shaking, he gasps for air, his chest constricts, he can’t _breathe_ —How she’d looked at him. With _forgiveness_ — Gravel under his knees. He crouches forward. He killed her, he had to, he had to, _he had to_ —

He wanted to.

Slowly, the noises come back. Something has quieted inside him. Silence like a sunrise. A fate. Self-born midst the scarlet sky. He rises. His vision clears. A few steps ahead of him Vader is gripping at the stone wall, the other three down in the dust. Kylo seizes the Force, then reaches out to them. He raises them one by one, breaking the thrall that kept them. A blast blows up the rock to their left. Kylo grabs his lightsaber from where it has fallen to the floor. He parries the next blast. More explosions.

“Surrender!” Issar screams at their attackers. Rapid gunfire follows. They take cover behind a curve.

“Leave them to me,” Vader growls. His saber blazes like the Force around him. For a brief second Kylo wonders what Vader has seen under Snoke’s spell. If it was Luke. If it _hurt._ Vader rounds the corner and presses forward, cape billowing. Vader reaches out and draws one of the attackers into the grip of his outstretched arm. He does not need the Force to crush his throat. Kylo watches, then turns around.

“This way,” Raga shouts over the noise. They follow her down the path into the narrow opening of a cave. She seizes the Force and smashes it against the wall to their right. Stone explodes, shards fly. The dust clears and a tunnel opens up before them. Rho steps forward, but Raga holds them back.

“Wait. It is still sealed. I need your help.”

Kylo can feel it too, a barrier unseen. And something vicious lies behind it. He looks at Raga.

“A Rancour,” Kylo says.

“Yes,” Raga answers. “But not any. An intelligent beast. She is old, more dangerous than her male counterparts.”

A howl echoes in the cave, guttural, raising the hairs on the back of Kylo’s neck. Something primal tells him to flee. “No-one is deathless,” Kylo says, instead. “She, like Snoke, is but a remnant of a time past. They have no place in this world anymore.” He gestures for them to come closer.

Issar and Rho move to his left, Raga to his right. They close their eyes.

“Concentrate on the barrier. Focus all your might to the point I’ll direct you to,” Kylo says.

The Force blusters around them. It is so much stronger here than anywhere, such sheer _power_. He feels his knights’ potency rise. He draws it to himself and forces it forward in one great push.

The barrier shatters. The air is cooler in the tunnel, it reeks of rotten flesh.

“Let her come,” Kylo growls.

Scratch of claws on stone. It’s impossible to tell where the sound originates. The tunnel spreads out before them, fissures into smaller hallways. The Rancour might be anywhere. She must be immane, but in the cave, neither their masks nor flashlights pierce the shadows. This darkness does not stem from the absence of light. They see only what the Force allows them to see.

“Stay close to me,” Raga whispers, “or you might get lost.”

Issar grazes his arm. She is tense, and he does not need the Force to know her fears: That if Raga were to double-cross them, this would be the perfect moment.

A low snarl fills the cave, it increases in volume, monstrous, twisting the shapes around them.

“Why is she waiting to attack?” Rho asks, their breath quick.

“Fear is an intoxicant for predators,” Raga grits.

Suddenly, crash of stone above them. They break apart, Kylo jumps to the left. He loses sight of the others in the rising dust. The red of his lightsaber is the only glow in the blackness.

A scream. It’s Rho.

Scent of fresh blood. Kylo shakes, moves toward the scream, all senses alert. A noise behind him, he whirls around— he’s thrown down. A gash gapes open on his chest. Blood sputters. Only then, the pain. His spine hits the ground. The beast is above him. Yellow eyes. Spittle drops from fangs. She howls, foul breath mixed with copper, and raises her claws to strike.

“No!” Issar shouts and fires her blaster carbine. The beast whines as Issar lands a shot, then the beast hauls herself at Issar. She fires again, but it doesn’t hinder the Rancor’s momentum. In the last second, Issar is dragged to the side. Raga hews her Twenchok foil into the beast’s side. The Rancor roars her rage, loud enough to tear Kylo from shock. He gets up, runs, and slashes at the heels of the beast. Blood spatters. He grits his teeth and strikes again, nerves and flesh severing under his onslaught, immobilising the creature. The wound on his chest throbs and for a moment his vision blears. The stitches in his side burn and he feels blood slick them.

“We don’t have time,” he shouts.

“Go!” Issar yells back, “I will handle it.”

“What of Rho?”

“Just go!”

Kylo exchanges a glance with Raga. They nod at each other. Issar reloads her blaster and starts firing again.

“This way!” Raga grabs his arm and pulls him along.

They stumble through the dark. Blood rivets down his chest. No pain, but he knows he has to stop the bleeding.

“Wait,” he says. 

They stop. Kylo leans against the stone wall. 

“I need you to close my wound,” he says.

She looks at him, and nods. He hands her his lightsaber. She steps back, points the lightsaber to the the gash on his chest. The lightsaber sizzles and heat sears through Kylo. Raga presses the blazing tip along the wound. Kylo grits his teeth and takes it. Pain whitens his vision, eclipsing all thought. His head sinks against the wall, his knees weak, he’s shaking. He steadies himself. There is no time. 

“Let’s go,” he rasps.

The corridors drag on and on. Kylo loses all sense of time. Raga leads him through the dark, around corners and so many forks that Kylo would not find his way back on his own if he had to. But he is not on his own. Raga is right here, one step ahead, driving onward. She stops and turns. Her eyes are black. 

“My life is my own,” she says. “I will not be with your knights.”

“Will you be with  _ me _ ?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. 

He grips her arm and draws her forward. Her fingers clasp his arm as she returns the gesture. He feels the life within her, her steady pulse. She nods. They let go. 

“We’re almost there.”

The air tastes sour. Kylo’s stomach lurches and he has to fight down the nausea. Snoke’s hexes in the Force. A barrier as much as an invitation. By now he must be aware of their arrival. They ascend a stairway that leads from the walls of cropped stone to a marble hallway, an iron wrought door at its end. A remnant of the Infinite Empire. It’s bolstered with the Force, and the closer they come, the more nauseous Kylo feels. Air gusts through the hallway, carrying voices. Raga clenches her fists. 

“Foul incantations,” she spits. The next second, she draws the Force around her and hammers it against the door. The hinges break and it screeches open. Blaster fire. Kylo spurts forward and  shields them with the Force. They press ahead. He swings his lightsaber, slashes left and right. They claim the soldier’s lives. Blood on their boots. Crunch of bone, all breaths expire. Snoke cannot be far. They march forward and leave nothing but silence in their wake. 

Their steps echo between gargantuan columns, made for taller creatures. 

“Ah. There you are.” 

Snoke’s voice.

They whip around. 

“My two most precious creations.” 

Snoke rises from the dark, pale as bone, golden robe heavy on his hunched shoulders. Kylo’s heart pounds. He cannot move. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to everyone who comments, leaves kudos and reads. I love y'all. It's the longest thing I've ever written so this means a lot to me.  
> The next chapter will finally have the fight with Snoke, I promise.  
> please let me know what you think of Raga and the knights? <3  
>   
> btw, I also paint the Kylo & Hux every now and then [here](http://summeringminor.tumblr.com/search/swtfa)


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